


Nightfall

by TCRegan



Series: The Tevinter Candidate [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 62,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by the Venatori, Dorian is forced into reconditioning to become a spy for the enemy. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Maxwell Trevelyan, a young and inexperienced nobleman, finds himself in over his head as Corypheus's armies inexplicably gain in power, and wrench control away from the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to say thanks especially again to Vee, who really gave me a lot of encouragement and harsh but helpful constructive criticism as this fic ballooned from its original "Just see what happens" into what it is now. And also as always for helping me with the title. You are my light, my love. <3
> 
> Writing dark subject matter is not a new thing for me, and I really enjoyed putting this one to paper, so to speak. Please note that the warnings are not just for show.
> 
> Part One is almost finished, and this will be posted on a chapter (or more)-per-week basis as I edit and start Part Two. I finish everything I start, so hopefully you guys can trust me to maintain that integrity as I continue to write this story. I'm committed to it.
> 
> For anyone who's been following me for my other stuff, I promise you that I'm still working as vigilantly on that as I can as real life allows it. Will update my profile to reflect what I'm working on. As always, constructive criticism and comments are welcome.
> 
> Enjoy!

Fingers pried at his eyelids, forcing them open. A bright, blinding light caused his pupils to constrict quickly. Sharp pain shot through his skull, and he pulled away with a hoarse cry. His throat was raw, like he'd been screaming for hours, and beyond the throbbing pain in his head, his memory came back, foggy and sluggish like honey poured over his favorite sweet dessert from home. One minute he was fighting, standing close to Solas, about to unleash an inferno on the surge of demons from the rift, and the next he'd somehow gotten cut off from the others. The Iron Bull at the forefront created an impenetrable line, keeping the ghouls and wisps off himself and Solas. He had no idea where the Herald went, though the man was hardly a fighter. And then something went wrong.

"Are you awake?"

Dorian opened his eyes again, slower this time. The light in the room dimmed, but still seemed impossibly bright. Everything hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this much physical pain. His right shoulder felt off, something was wrong. _Popped out of the socket,_ he thought, remembering the last time it happened. Years ago, roughhousing with Felix, getting a lecture from Alexius after he'd set it right and massaged it for him. His head lolled to the side, and he felt dried blood from his nose, tasted the tang of it on his lips, and ran his tongue over his teeth. Thankfully all were intact as far as he could tell. His left eye was swollen and sore, and he thought it the result of being hit in the face. His nose, he knew, was likely broken. He reached for the magic to give himself some relief, but it wasn't there. Mana drained? Some potion or another technique?

"You have two fractured ribs," the man continued. "A broken ankle, several deep gouges in your legs and back."

"What-" Dorian tried, his voice sounding as if he'd swallowed sand. "Where-"

"Where you are is unimportant."

Dorian wanted to beg to differ, but he could barely do anything but wince in pain at this point. His wrists were bound behind him, every little movement causing his shoulder to feel as if the bones were grinding against one another in torturous agony. His ankles were similarly tied together, the left feeling as if it was made of shards of broken glass, and he tried very, very hard to sit still and not move. The stool upon which he sat was cold, and he realized belatedly he was naked. Taking a deep breath, he let out another cry of pain. His ribs, as the man said, were indeed broken. Instead, he switched to short, shallow panting, which did nothing to ease the hurt, but it was bearable for now.

The room appeared small, but there was little to see beyond the wisp that floated above him, providing the only light. For all he knew, he could've been in a giant cavern or a grand hall. He looked up, squinting through the light, and saw the man before him. He wore traditional Tevinter robes, his hood pulled up, and a curious looking silver mask covered his entire face, save his mouth and chin. The mouth curled upward into a cold smile.

"Dorian Pavus. The Venatori welcome you."

"Well you've got a shit greeting party," Dorian managed.

The Venatori. That wasn't good. He joined the Inquisition in hopes of stopping Alexius. Maybe he was too late. Maybe whatever they were planning in Redcliffe already happened. But no, they would have heard about it if there had been any changes with the rebel mages. Had Alexius found out he was in Ferelden? Felix wouldn't have said anything. And if Alexius knew, would he have allowed his capture? Just how far were these cultists willing to go? And why did they want him? Because he'd talked to the Herald? Perhaps he should have stuck with his original plan to remain in hiding until the Herald was ready to confront Alexius.

"You may call me Lucanus. I will be in charge of your… rehabilitation."

Dorian tried to swallow, his mouth horribly dry. "Elfroot potions and some healing spells wouldn't go amiss."

"They told me you had a silver tongue."

Lucanus reached out and took Dorian's jaw his hand. Dorian tried to pull away, but the spiking pain in his head doubled, and he nearly vomited with the wave of nausea that overcame him.

"If you're lucky, it will be quick."

Dorian wasn't sure what he meant by 'rehabilitation' but he knew that whatever it was, it definitely wasn't good. He wondered how many days he'd been here, how much time he'd lost in unconsciousness. Was the Herald looking for him? He hadn't formed such a solid bond yet with anyone in the camp, though he thought perhaps the Herald might have… No. Idle flirtations did not a friendship make. And if the Herald thought he had changed his mind and run off instead of staying to help, then there was no one looking for him. He could be here a very long time.

"Lucanus." Dorian thought a moment. "Laetan." His father was old money, but not old blood. They could count for six or seven generations, with a handful of mages per each one. Lucanus's father was not a mage. But his brother – Lucanus's uncle – was. He was also in the Chantry and quite well-respected. Dorian was aware of the man himself, and through the haze of pain, he remembered. "Chiron Lucanus. Fourth child, third son. You were promised to the Chantry with your uncle."

Lucanus sneered from under his mask. "You'll watch your tongue, Pavus. The Elder One will raise all his Venatori to godlike status once he attains his ultimate power. If you comply, you might just secure a spot. Perhaps I'll let you be my lapdog."

Dorian snorted. _Ow._ Bad idea. "Well, we'll see how that works out for you, shall we?" If Alexius hadn't gotten him to join this power-hungry mad cult, a sniveling, groveling social climber like Lucanus sure wouldn't either.

Lucanus snapped his fingers. A hulking figure emerged from the darkness, and despite the pain, Dorian felt immediately aroused. _Lust demon._ It was head and shoulders taller than him, with tanned and oiled skin, wearing nothing but a loincloth and leather boots. Its face kept changing, until it finally settled on someone who was familiar to Dorian. A man he'd met in a pub, someone he talked to for hours, someone he'd wanted to ask to his bed, but couldn't muster the nerve to do it. _Rilienus._ His face looked wrong on the demon's body, and Dorian looked away.

"Take him to his room. We're done for now," Lucanus ordered.

He cried out in pain when the demon grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him up. The creature's well-oiled chest pressed against his back, pheromones mixing with the blood of his wounds, and his erection bobbed embarrassingly against his stomach. His hands, bound as they were, pressed against the demon's stomach, and below that he could feel the thick cock, hard and brushing his thighs through the loincloth. Broken and bruised, his body protested the harsh treatment as he was half-carried, half-dragged out of the dark room.

The corridor was dimly lit, torchlight flickering as they passed. Sand underfoot, and Tevinter architecture around him. Some kind of fortress? This wasn't a new wave in interior decorating, he realized. No self-respecting member of Tevinter society would decorate with sand _inside_ their estate. The walls were crumbling and moldy in places. It felt damp and foreboding and he had a feeling that despite the architecture, they weren't anywhere actually in the Imperium. Some long forgotten outpost? Were they still in Ferelden? The one who could give him answers likely wouldn't tell him. He would need to figure out how to heal himself, and then find a way to escape.

A door at the end of the hall opened as they approached. He shivered when the demon slid its muscular hand down his side, across the inside of his thigh, over his knee. A burst of haphazard magic tore apart the ropes around his ankles, and he was placed gingerly on the floor. He favored his broken ankle at once, and much to his disgust, found himself leaning back against the demon for support. The hand was back, this time on his stomach, and he fought hard against the ache in his groin, the _need_ to submit to the thing that held him so carefully. He felt the demon's erection against the small of his back now. The desire to turn and rip off the loincloth and swallow its cock was overwhelming. The air tasted heady on his tongue and he licked his lips eagerly.

Standing in the doorway of what had to be his cell, he tried to remember something, anything to make sense of this neediness growing inside him. One large hand sunk into his hair and gripped painfully, the one on his stomach moved to a nipple and pinched, and he moaned like a whore. Without thinking, he started to rub his backside against the demon's thigh. If he could just clear his head, he could figure a way out of this. Another sharp pinch and twist of his nipple, and he thrust his hips forward, fucking the air. Warm lips pressed against his shoulder and neck, and he moaned again. He heard someone speaking, and realized it was himself, begging to be fucked.

The demon lowered his hand, dragging his fingers across Dorian's stomach and gave his cock one swift stroke. Dorian's hips thrust again, cock spasming uncontrollably as he came hard with the most intense orgasm he could ever remember having. In that moment he forgot everything, including his name. There was no Tevinter, no Pavus legacy, no Alexius, and certainly no Venatori. All that mattered was this perfect, perfect creature behind him, milking his cock, kissing his neck, making him feel utterly exquisite and completely spent. And then, following that one blissful moment, it was gone in a rush. He fell to the ground, shouting in surprise and pain.

"Crawl inside like the dog you are," came Lucanus's voice.

The ropes around his wrists were removed, and Dorian whimpered at the ache in his shoulder. Covered in blood, sweat, and now his own semen, he edged into the room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound of a key in a lock echoed in the dark. He heard footsteps retreating, and he was alone. Too tired to pull himself to the sad looking mattress in the corner of the room, he lay on the cold, sand-covered floor, and let darkness taken him.


	2. Chapter 2

"You didn't see him? Pray, tell me, where did he go? Because he sure as shi-" Maxwell Trevelyan broke off, gritting his teeth. He took a breath before continuing. "He sure didn't just walk off the field of battle."

The Iron Bull wasn't used to hearing curse words from the Herald of Andraste, even half-formed ones. He let out the occasional exasperated, "Maker's breath," but nearly every Andrastian Bull met did that. Otherwise, he embodied his title almost to a fault. He was religious and nearly as straight-laced as the templar, Cullen, whose expression was horribly anxious as he touched the pommel of his sword. And the Herald was usually calmer than Cassandra, who stood next to him, her arms crossed, dark eyes watching him carefully. If anyone was going to raise their voice, Bull thought it would be her. And perhaps she would, once Trevelyan got done shouting. The subject of his ire stood passively in front of him, leaning ever so slightly on his staff.

Bull wasn't quite sure what to make of Solas yet. They'd had two or three conversations in which Solas berated the Qun and its followers. Bull kept his own temper in check, but it was difficult. It wasn't as if it was new to him. He heard it from a lot of people, people he liked better than Solas. But there was something odd about him, and also irritating. In his travels, Bull met a lot of elves, mostly slaves, a handful of Dalish. Solas didn't seem to fit any of the stereotypes he'd worked out for the race. He hated not having all the information, and resolved to find out what it was. Until then, though, they were missing a member of their party.

He wasn't so worked up about it. People came and went from his life all the time. But he supposed it wasn't the same thing for Maxwell Trevelyan. He often spoke as if he had the whole world figured out. At first Bull thought it would bother him, the sanctimonious crap that some Andrastians spouted. The self-righteous nugshit seemed to be prevalent amongst the upper-class. But it turned out that Trevelyan wasn't the preaching type. He just found faith in his… well, faith. Oh he would talk about it to whoever was listening, but not everything he said was always pertinent. Bull was used to the talkers. The ones with the silver tongues in their mouths could be more dangerous than those that carried silver at their side. Or, well, silver _ite_. Trevelyan was a good kid, though, from what Bull could see. Selfless, but ambitious, he was out of his element here. Maybe in Ostwick he had things under control, learning how to use his position to get what he wanted, but this wasn't the Chantry in the city where he grew up.

"As I have said," Solas repeated calmly, "he was next to me a moment, and then when I turned to assist with the despair demon, I lost sight of him. By the time the fight ended, he was gone."

Bull regretting not paying attention to the whole field of battle. Usually when he was with his boys, they had his back. He could trust them to hold up their part of the fight. And Trevelyan put together a good team whenever they ventured outside Haven. He had to, never having been trained in any fighting arts himself. Until a few weeks ago, Bull doubted the kid held anything sharper than a steak knife, the sword at his side more for decoration at the moment than for anything practical. Which is why he assumed that the mages Trevelyan collected were talented enough not to blow up the wrong person or set themselves on fire. And _that_ part was at least true. But really, how good could you be if you got lost in the middle of the fight? Though that might be an unfair assessment, because everything at the scene pointed to abduction.

"Just… fine," Trevelyan sighed. "Go. If you hear anything, report back at once." He turned to Cassandra without waiting for Solas's response. "Can you tell Leliana that we need eyes and ears near the rift that we closed? I want everyone who's not working on something important to search for him."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it a good use of our resources to search for someone who may not even want to be here?"

Bull tried to catch Solas's eye before he turned and left the war room, but Solas kept his head up, focused on his destination, and the door shut quietly behind him. Trevelyan frowned, his soft blue eyes catching the flickering candlelight, and Bull saw the anxiety there. He wondered what that was about. Did Trevelyan blame himself for Dorian's disappearance? That was a one-way ticket to the bottom of a mug of ale, and not the good kind.

"He _did_ want to be here. We were going to return to Redcliffe together to confront his former patron. He wouldn't just…" He sighed. "He wouldn't just run off without telling me."

"And you're sure?" Cassandra pressed.

Trevelyan hesitated, but nodded. His hand went to the silver pendant around his neck, Andraste at the stake. Bull would never understand these people and their weird trinkets, but it gave Trevelyan comfort, and Bull wasn't going to question _that_.

Cassandra sighed, rubbing her brow. "Very well. I will speak to Leliana. But if she cannot find him-"

"I'll speak to Alexius myself."

"Not alone," Cullen piped up, stepping forward. "The magister is an unknown power. We have the word of the man's son, and his former student. The whole thing could be one giant trap. We can't afford to lose you to this."

"You won't," Trevelyan said.

"I'll go with him," Bull spoke up. "And we'll bring Sera."

Cullen frowned slightly at the mention of the elven archer. "I'm not sure-"

"If anyone knows the ins and outs of a Fereldan castle, it would be Sera," Trevelyan agreed, giving Bull a grateful smile. "It'll be a damn sight harder if I have to negotiate while trying to watch my own back at the same time. I need them both."

He carried himself like a noble, too, Bull thought. Even though there was a bit of trepidation. And why wouldn't there be? A task to seal the Breach, a giant fucking hole in the sky that until recently had been pouring out demons? And further to seal rifts and hold the responsibility of his title? All without anyone even asking him if he wanted it. He just got things done the best he could with what he had. Bull imagined it was overwhelming for him. But he was handling it admirably. He was even stepping into the role of de facto leader, usually when Cullen and the others failed to come to a decision. Which, Bull noticed, was quite often.

"I'm not sure taking an elf and a Qunari – no offense," Cullen said, nodding to Bull, "- is the most subtle approach."

"That would be a problem. If I was going for subtle." Trevelyan smiled, his perfectly straight white teeth and dimpled cheek making him appear cherubic and altogether innocent. Bull knew better. "I'll give Leliana's scouts three days. We can't wait any longer, and we need the mages from Redcliffe regardless of where Dorian is."

"I'll see if we can formulate a better plan," Cullen said. "I'm not sure I like the idea of sending you without backup."

Trevelyan frowned, and gestured at Bull with an exasperated expression on his face.

Cullen sighed. "The magister will be well-guarded. No matter how efficient you think three members of the Inquisition are, going against his lackeys-"

"Leliana might know something," Cassandra cut in, stopping the argument short. "Come, Cullen. Let us plan."

Her tone left no room for argument, and frustrated, Cullen followed her out. Trevelyan ran a hand through his dark blond locks, turning from the door, and stared down at the war table. Bull scratched at the stubble on his chin, contemplating the situation for a moment.

"You all right, boss?" Sometimes it was best just to ask outright, even if he couldn't do anything.

Trevelyan shook his head, shoulders hunched. "He wouldn't just leave, Bull."

"Yeah, I figured when you said. But you're sure?" Bull stepped forward, one large hand splayed on the war table as he leaned in a little.

"Can you keep a secret, Bull?" Trevelyan's head snapped up, looking at Bull, realizing what he'd just said, and laughed. "Sorry."

Bull shrugged. "Hey, it's not always a bad thing if people are looking at me as something other than Ben-Hassrath."

"Right." Trevelyan sighed and straightened, hand moving to the pendant once more, and he stopped halfway. "I simply thought… Well, we had a lot of long conversations in the short time he's been with us. And I just believed that we were… That he was…"

"Ah, yeah," Bull said, with a knowing tone. "So you're like that?"

"I don't know. I mean, yes," he said, a slight blush to his cheeks. " _I_ am. Though it's not something one tends to toss about. I just wondered if he was…" There was a wistfulness to his voice as he glanced back at the map, fingers tapping Redcliffe village. "I thought perhaps there was something… but you know how it is with nobles. My father would never…" He frowned. "I enjoyed Dorian's company. It's been a long time since anyone's made me feel…" He trailed off with a shrug. The fact that he was tongue-tied now, talking about Dorian, when he was usually so eloquent, was telling.

"Hey," Bull said, knocking him a little on the shoulder. Then he grabbed him before he could fall backward. "We'll find him. I'll tell you this. He didn't just walk away. Something happened."

Trevelyan nodded. "I would be worried if it was any of you," he hastened to add.

"Yeah, I know." But it was clear to Bull. Dorian was special to him already. He wondered if it was a "noble" thing. But he doubted it. Trevelyan struck him as a loner. Sure, he talked about his family, about his two older brothers, all his cousins and other weird human names they had for their relatives. It was one thing Bull was kind of shaky on when it came to human customs. But he knew loneliness. And Trevelyan had all the classic signs of being used to it. "We'll find him and then you two can talk, yeah?"

"Yes," he agreed, exhaling forcibly, ruffling his bangs. Bull watched him fix his hair unconsciously, and returned the smile that Trevelyan gave him. "Thanks for not making fun of me."

"For having a crush on somebody?" Bull shrugged. "Maybe once we get to know each other better. Then I'll take the piss outta ya."

Trevelyan laughed, a warm, pleasant sort of sound that Bull liked. "Thanks. I'll come find you when I need you."

"Sure thing."

He watched Trevelyan leave, then glanced back down at the map. If anyone could find out where Dorian went, it would be Red's people, he was sure of it. And then maybe Trevelyan would return to his usual pleasant self.

"All this trouble for a Vint," Bull grunted, rapping his knuckles on the table before he too, left the war room.


	3. Chapter 3

_"I will not tolerate failure."_

As if anyone in a position of power would. Crassius Servis massaged his forehead, pressing a thumb against his temple. He sat in a room that currently served as his office in the old, broken Tevinter ruins. Ruins in general didn't interest him. History was something to which he gave merely a passing thought. But the artifacts long buried? Those interested him. Those were worth a lot of money. The men who hired him to collect said artifacts thought so as well. And his loyalty to Corypheus? A very convenient and – even if he did say so himself – clever ruse. He could easily play the part of being a servant to a man more powerful than himself. And as Corypheus did control a dragon, and was able to open a very large hole into the Fade, Servis put him firmly in the, "someone more powerful than myself" category.

That part was fine. He was used to fading quietly into the background, controlling the politics and finances of men with significant ambition. He personally had no desire to rule anything. Except perhaps his own estate. Even then, the day to day dealings were left to his slave, Silvius. After Servis left the Minrathous Circle at the completion of his studies, he traveled to Antiva for the traditional yet unofficial coming-of-age summer holiday. When he returned home, his father would expect him to start learning how to run the estate. Dull and boring as that sounded, Servis had his sights set elsewhere. And when he met the beautifully tanned elf with the dark hair and golden eyes, who was good with his tongue both in bed and out, Servis knew he had to have him. He paid good coin for him, too.

Decades later, and Silvius was still indispensable. He took run of the estate, trained the other slaves, and was treated well for his troubles. When Servis left south with the Venatori, he debated leaving him behind in Minrathous. But with the mountains of paperwork looming before him – and really, who knew that a supremacist cult would have so many documents? – he knew he'd made the right decision. Servis learned early on that nearly everyone could be bought. If not with coin, then with something else. For Silvius, it was comfort and safety. Having grown up the son of a whore, he was tired of being a convenient hole for Antivan royalty and passing tourists. Servis would have believed himself altruistic in 'saving' him, but they both knew he had his reasons.

"Sorry, you were saying?" Servis said, looking up from a long list of potentially profitable things his Venatori soldiers had already uncovered.

Silvius huffed, slightly annoyed at having to repeat himself. "Master Chiron states that the Pavus boy was indeed working with the Inquisition. He has been subdued and is resting in one of the cells below."

Servis considered this a moment. Halward Pavus was extremely rich. Lord of Asariel, he owned quite a bit of land, and the taxes taken from one of the most desirous coastal cities in Tevinter made him a very powerful and influential magister. He was also talented with his magic, not someone who idled while his slaves fed him grapes and looked at his senatorial duties like they were a burden rather than a privilege. Last Servis heard though, he'd disowned his brat. For what, he had no idea, though the rumors about it were likely true. He remembered the weekend he spent in Asariel a while ago, the look the boy had given him. He also remembered the stolen moments in a shadowed courtyard with Dorian. A quick fuck, but good enough that it hadn't simply faded with his memories of the other affairs he'd had over the years.

He wondered how much Magister Pavus would spend to get his son back. Then he quickly quashed that thought. Corypheus would have wanted him for something, but caught up with the excavation of the ruins, Servis had yet to hear about the plans.

"And did Lucanus say anything else?"

Lucanus. A Laetan. Servis had to keep from sneering at that. Not that he was inherently racist or classist. People who were useful to him were good regardless of blood and genealogy. For the most part. Silvius, for example, wasn't even a mage. As an elf in the Imperium he had little hope of even rising beyond the Liberati class. And Servis wasn't about to go freeing him any time soon. But Lucanus, for all his magical talent, was clumsy. And had Lucanus not been assigned to work the excavation team with him, Service doubted he would've even given him the time of day. That Lucanus was taking initiative and kidnapping Inquisition members? Well, it was ambitious, but ultimately seemed to be a useless thing. There had to be more to it.

"Master Chiron states that he's aware you and the prisoner knew one another in Tevinter. His rehabilitation will begin soon, and Master Chiron impressed that you were not to interfere."

Servis remained impassive. There was no way Lucanus could have possibly known about his brief interaction with Pavus, despite how friendly he was with the patriarch of that family. It never did well to be on anyone's bad side, after all. Having enough coin, favor, or blackmail material was necessary to sway opinions and pass laws that would help his position. He never drifted too close to the top, preferring the shadows. Much easier to make certain moves. Most magisters and other influential members of the Magisterium vied for power, and he was happy to let them. That didn't mean that he didn't have his own enemies. Those who outbid him for certain Carta operations, the ones that would interrupt his smuggling business. And there were several museums and private collectors who'd all leapt at the chance at rare pieces, should he uncover anything while he was here. He didn't always sell to the highest bidder, either, but he made sure that it was _he_ they came to, and not someone else. He prided himself on being able to move large quantities to and from the Imperium, collecting debts and favors along the way.

What was Lucanus's angle? Did he even think about anything beyond serving Corypheus? Sure, Corypheus was powerful and had a true chance at achieving the status of godhood. A lot of Servis's fellow countrymen were willing to throw their lot in with him and not look back. The Archon, of course, disavowed all knowledge of anything Corypheus had done so far. He was sure the Archon didn't even know "The Elder One's" true name. Not that Servis thought "Corypheus" was his name, but the point stood. If the Inquisition gained in power and the Archon threw his support in toward the upstarts – unlikely, but possible – Servis would want some type of fallback. He had enough coin and favors racked up to keep him out of any major trouble but it would be a huge dent in his amassed wealth.

Thus, he would need to speak with the younger Pavus before deciding whether he wanted to contact his father. He spared an idle thought for Alexius, the boy's former patron, and wondered if Alexius was made aware of this. Probably not. He was a tricky one, too. Alexius had joined under the pretense of wanting power, but he knew that wasn't his true motivation. Everyone in the Imperium knew his search for a cure for his son's illness transcended everything. Servis thought about his own father, dead now, choking on his own vomit. He attended the funeral and accepted the condolences, but felt nothing. Not even relief that the man was finally dead. He'd learned nothing of importance from him anyway, and if he hadn't died in his sleep from an overdose of his latest addiction, Servis would have arranged the murder sooner or later. Actually, dying from 'natural causes' was the best thing his father had ever done for him.

"I believe I'll go down to see Pavus in a few minutes, Silvius. Thank you."

"Very good, sir." Silvius bowed, as if he expected this defiance from Servis in the face of Lucanus's demands. "Will you need anything else?"

Servis's fingertips drummed on the shiny top of his desk, papers and books spread out, an abacus holding down a rather large stack of reports. "Prepare a letter to Magister Pavus alerting him to the fact that we have his son, but do not send it. Be discreet and courteous and do not mention any names. We'll see what Lucanus has planned. By the end of the day, the letter will be in the post or in the fire."

"Yes, Master."

Servis smirked, stretched, and stood. "Draw a bath for me, would you? And keep it warm. I tire of this dusty old ruin."

Silvius bowed again and left the room. Servis pulled on his cloak and flicked the hood up before making his way down to the holding cells, sand swirling around his boots.


	4. Chapter 4

The name of the ruin was long lost to history. Perhaps it would turn up the hall of records. What Servis knew was that it served both as a prison and a military fort. Unfortunately that, and the fact that it was abandoned, meant a complete and utter lack of comfort and updated facilities. Servis could handle it, as this venture was going to earn him quite a bit of coin. A few weeks of discomfort and irritation for mass quantities of gold were worth it to him. However, when he stepped into the cell that housed Dorian Pavus, he wished at once that he could've been anywhere else.

Not that Servis was a stranger to the ugly and macabre. He'd seen demonstrations where slaves were bled and killed and sacrificed. He didn't truly care about that, so long as it didn't interfere with his own plans, and it almost never did. When he hosted parties, which wasn't very often, his guest knew better than to leave a mess. Though the ruins didn't belong to him, they were his project. He felt a sort of possessiveness over them. Seeing the mangled, dirty body of the Pavus boy laid out on the stone floor like a mouse some feral cat spat out… it annoyed him. This wasn't something he wanted to deal with, and he would later make sure that Lucanus knew it.

Whatever the plans he had for Pavus, Servis couldn't think of a single one that would result with the boy's death through neglect. Covered in bruises, blood, sweat, and perhaps most distastefully, dried semen, he lay unconscious and barely breathing. Torture, Servis learned, was best dished out when the victim was awake. And if they were trying to get information out of him regarding the Herald of Andraste, he certainly wasn't going to talk in this state. It was for this reason that Servis was bemoaning the lack of proper facilities. The most basic necessity of all was running water, and he had none at the moment. Wishing he'd asked Silvius to come with him, he stepped into the cell, over the near lifeless body of their prisoner, and glanced into the metal bucket, eyeing it cautiously.

Empty. And clean. Well, thank the Maker for small favors. Not that He ever did Servis any favors. As he was currently without the convenient dwarven runes that kept basins full of clean fresh water, the next best option was ice and heat. He combined a ball of ice from one hand, and heated it from a jet of flame from the other. In a very short time, the bucket was full. He turned, sighing heavily as he looked down at Pavus once more.

"I swear this had better be worth whatever scheme Lucanus has come up with."

He left him unconscious as he mended his broken bones the best he could. Servis was no healer, after all. That branch of magic was largely a mystery to him, and something he rarely needed to use. When he engaged in duels or skirmishes, his primary goal was to stay out of the line of fire. Hence his shields were impeccable. He could throw a man fifty feet with the snap of his fingers. But healing bones and mending cuts? With any luck, Silvius would come find him once he was done drafting a letter, and he would be spared the indecency of a slave's work. With less care than he could have taken, Servis pulled Dorian's arm into place, popping it back into the socket. A quiet, unguarded whimper escaped Dorian's lips and he started to stir.

"Oh good. If you're awake, you can clean yourself," Servis said, pulling a handkerchief from his robes. He inspected it, making sure it wasn't one he actually liked, and dropped it into the bucket.

"I… What is…"

"Eloquent." Servis inspected the room and found it lacking any proper furniture, just a stained mattress on the floor. He leaned carefully against a wall instead, avoiding any blood stains.

Dorian carefully pulled himself up from the floor, leaning on one splayed hand, the other rubbing his face gingerly. His naked, bloody body was covered in sand as well now, and his usually impeccable hair was askew, falling into his eyes. Servis tilted his head slightly, remembering a more pleasant time with the young man sitting before him. Dorian had been seventeen or eighteen, Servis himself nearing his thirtieth name-day. Now, Dorian had to be in his late twenties, and the years were exceptionally kind to him.

"The water's warm enough. Can you use your magic?" He hoped that Lucanus was at least smart enough to poison him before tossing him haphazardly into a barely locked cell with no wards.

Dorian's fingers flexed. A pathetic spark of flame fizzled out before it truly ever started. "No." He looked up, squinting through the torchlight. "Servis?"

Servis regretted instantly that he hadn't worn a mask. Now, no matter what, he would be pegged as a conspirator. Still, he might be able to turn the tables a bit. "I healed what I could. You should wash yourself before those become infected."

Dorian took the cloth from the water and knelt in front of the bucket. "Can't say much for the accommodations."

"They're better than any rat-hole hotel in Rivain."

The amused noise that escaped Dorian's lips was slightly pained. He started to wash his face, then his arms. Servis watched as the rivulets of water mixed with the dried blood, turning pink as they slid down perfectly sculpted muscles. _Hm. Sculptures._ He wondered if the ancient marble bust he saw at the mouth of the prison wing was worth anything. Best to put it in the crates with the others, just in case.

"I've already told Alexius I have no intention on joining the Venatori," Dorian said distastefully. He stretched out his shoulder, rotating it with caution.

"I sincerely doubt you were beaten this badly as a welcoming present into the order."

Dorian scoffed, getting gingerly to his feet. He swayed and lost his balance, fell to the sand, and swore. Servis was faintly amused. It was quite like watching a baby deer learn to walk, and wondered if Lucanus drugged him with anything other than magebane. But despite his lack of motor skills, Dorian appeared to be in full control of his mental faculties.

"So are you saying you had nothing to do with this?" Dorian asked, trying to sneer. The effect was somewhat ruined by the glazed look in his eye.

Footsteps in the sand outside, and Servis straightened, prepared to berate Lucanus. A dressing down in front of his own prisoner would hopefully knock some sense into him. But it was Silvius. Not for the first time, Servis was pleased with his slave's intuition. He gestured at the bucket and Silvius plucked the cloth from the floor where Dorian dropped it. Dorian eyed him warily, trying to focus on his face.

"My house slave," Servis said curtly. "Unless you want to continue on like a drunken child."

Dorian scowled, pressing the palm his hand to his forehead. "Fine."

Silvius started to clean him off, efficient and clinical.

"And no," Servis said, continuing their conversation. "I had nothing to do with this. I haven't yet spoken to Lucanus but I assume he has a plan. The Elder One likely wanted you here."

"While it's nice to be wanted, and something I'm rather used to-"

"Except of late." Servis couldn't resist the jab about Dorian's disownment.

Dorian glared up at him. But as he was currently being cleaned off like a hospitalized invalid, it didn't quite have the sting Servis expected he was going for.

"As to why you're here, your guess is as good as mine. I assume it's to do with the Herald."

"I suppose offering you an obscene amount of money and favors for my release is out of the question," Dorian said. He seemed to already know the answer.

"I have no interest in you or your money. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have bothered in the first place." The words were cutting, as Servis intended them to be. Showing the boy compassion and then insulting him would keep him on his toes. Plus it was simply fun to watch people squirm in general. _We must take our pleasures where we find them._ Not that he was thinking about taking _Dorian_ for his pleasure. He preferred his partners to be enthusiastic and willing. And it would be in exceedingly poor taste to force himself on Dorian after someone already had their fun with him. No, Servis planned to come out of this largely unscathed and still accepted into the Pavus house when necessary. "Stand up if you can."

Dorian didn't obey immediately, probably wanting to make Servis realize that he wasn't in charge here. But Servis didn't care. It was no skin off his back if Dorian preferred to be dirty out of defiance. Once on his feet, Dorian swayed a little but kept his balance. Silvius waited until he was stable, then continued to clean him off.

Dorian gritted his teeth, jerking away when the elf's hands came too close to his genitals. Servis wondered idly if Lucanus would continue to have his fun with Dorian, and what it entailed. Though he thought he'd rather not know the details after all.

"So why are you here?" Dorian asked, a sharp bite to words.

Servis wanted to warn him. To tell him that his spite and contempt would only make it worse. But sometimes it was just best to let them figure it out for themselves. And infinitely more amusing. "To see if my colleague knew what he was doing. If the Elder One wants you, I'm afraid there's not much I can do as far as interfering. It's a self-preservation thing. I like my head on my shoulders, thank you."

Dorian's glare softened just a bit. He knew. That was the way of things in Tevinter. You looked out for yourself. Just the fact that Servis had come to pay him a visit was more than most people would have done. In the same breath that it was compassionate, it was also cruel. A reminder, perhaps, of a former life, but also a hard-hitting realization that Dorian wasn't going to find any help here.

"I would…" Dorian licked his lips, pausing to choose his words carefully. "I would be obliged to you if, in passing, you accidentally mentioned my capture to our mutual friend. After all, it's quite interesting gossip."

Servis held his gaze. He knew who Dorian meant. Alexius was foolish and wore his heart on his sleeve. He would of course leap to Dorian's rescue, or at least beg for his release. He cared about Dorian almost as much as he cared for his own son. And Servis felt a little bitter at that. He would have to weigh his options. The Pavus family, rich and powerful, and the Alexius family, extremely influential in the Magisterium. 

"I will take it into consideration. Do you need anything?" Far be it from him to be a rude host. This might be Lucanus's pet project, but he couldn't stop Servis from doing as he wished. Not anymore than Servis could stop Lucanus. _More asinine bullshit politics under the Venatori,_ Servis thought. If it were Tevinter, he could easily pull rank over the inferior mage.

"Freedom? Hot bath?" Dorian laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Food. Clothing," he said more quietly.

Servis nodded. "I'll send Silvius down with some essentials." He paused, then removed his cloak, and threw it at Dorian's feet. "Come, Silvius." 

He strode from the room, Silvius closing and locking the door behind them. Servis watched Dorian's profile disappear from the small, barred window. He bent and picked up the cloak, looked at it, and then pulled it on. With a smirk, Servis returned to his quarters and to his own hot bath.


	5. Chapter 5

Emerging from the shadows was cliché, but the startled yelp from Lucanus was worth it. Servis crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall as Lucanus caught his breath. The glare to follow was weak, and Servis prepared himself for the inevitable complaints.

"If you wanted to speak with me, you know where my quarters are," Lucanus snapped.

_And there it is._ Servis ignored it. He could have returned with something intimidating. Perhaps a threat on his life, stating that yes, he did know where they were, and Lucanus should make sure to lock them up and set wards just in case. But he wasn't here to berate Lucanus like he was a child. Servis took precautions against unwanted offspring, and he wasn't about to start acting like a father to this brat. _Maker's mercy, it's like dealing with an irritated Erimond._ And the fact that Corypheus assigned Erimond to the other side of the Western Approach, Servis figured he owed him _something_ after all. He would start by making sure Lucanus knew what he was doing with Dorian. And if he could streamline whatever it was – torture or even death – then all the better. Best to wield a sharp sword over a blunt sledgehammer in order to get the beheading done cleanly and quickly, so to speak.

His analogies needed work.

Lucanus continued to glare, as if daring him to talk. Servis did not, keeping his cold grey eyes leveled on the other man. His sandy brown hair and freckles dusting over his cheeks gave him the impression of being much younger and innocent than he really was. Wide, soft brown eyes would make him enticing, but Servis knew the problems with mixing business and pleasure. Also, Lucanus would likely only agree to a night on the basis that Servis put in a good word for him somewhere. Anywhere. Being too desperate for power was a giant turnoff. The silence did what Servis needed it to, and instead of walking away like he should have, Lucanus continued to talk.

"You went to see him, don't deny it."

Servis remained silent.

"You shouldn't have done that. Leaving your cloak. He's a prisoner, not a patient. His reconditioning was left up to me, and you should not interfere, lest I get the Elder One involved!"

Servis's lips curled into a smirk. He was positive that's exactly what Corypheus would want. His followers fighting and squabbling like children. Taking a deep breath, he let out a long-suffering sigh, just loud enough to let Lucanus know exactly how he felt about him. "Reconditioning is best done with a gentle hand." It was Servis's forte; he'd suffered enough at his father's own neglect to know that one would jump at any sign of affection once it was offered. It was a pity that he doubted Alexius's willingness to involve himself in something like this. He would be perfect for this experiment.

"And what do you even know about it?"

"You look at me as your enemy, Lucanus." As well he should, or at least a competent rival. Servis gave a passing thought for the mountains of paperwork on his desk, the dozens of crates that needed to be inspected before being shipped out discreetly, and the report he still needed to write for Corypheus. They were searching for an ancient elven temple, or evidence leading to it. Which meant reading through a veritable library of tomes written in old Tevene. He already felt the headache forming behind his eyes. Teaching Lucanus the finer points of reconditioning was definitely preferable to any of those things.

"You would take this project from me and claim it for yourself! The Elder One entrusted ME to this!"

"And you're doing a fantastic job. Through your neglect, Pavus would have perished from infection or worse. Also, while rape is sometimes an effective tool, it's distasteful and barbaric."

"It wasn't me. I used a lust demon. Not that it's any of your business!" Lucanus hastened to say.

Servis quirked an eyebrow. "Positive reinforcement works much better than negative. But you're acting a child determined to break its toys and put them back together to suit your own needs."

"I am not!" Two ruddy spots appeared on Lucanus's almost cherubic cheeks.

"But you have so much potential," Servis continued. "I would hate to see that squandered simply because you want to see your experiment squirm."

Fists unfurled, and Servis watched Lucanus relax slightly under the praise. _And thus my point is proven almost as quickly as it was stated._

"I will not be involved," Servis assured him, "unless you want me to. I offer guidance. An easier and more surefire way to achieve what you're seeking."

He watched Lucanus consider this. The set of his jaw made Servis realize he was clenching or grinding his teeth. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to cast a spell, or perhaps punch him in the face. Fortunately for him, he did neither. Servis would have been forced to defend himself, and he doubted very much if Lucanus would survive the encounter. Lucanus might be all fire and rage, but he lacked finesse. And Servis possessed that in spades.

"Fine," Lucanus finally ground out. "If we can bring him to heel faster, then I'll put in a good word with the Elder One for you."

Servis's eyes narrowed just a fraction. He wanted to point out exactly how ridiculous this was, that he didn't need to curry favor with Corypheus. That if anyone was capable of turning their lord's head, it would be him, not Lucanus. If he really wanted to be Corypheus's right hand, he would rise to the occasion. But Lucanus didn't realize he was playing in the big boys' league just yet. Servis quickly ran through the dozens of things he could do to end this man once he was done with him. Another small project when this was all over. It would only take a few letters to make the Lucanus house just another smudge in the history books… But he was getting ahead of himself. Minor irritations with this distraction weren't truly worth his time. And besides, this was supposed to be a fun project.

"I'm afraid you've already stabbed yourself in the foot. Dorian will not be quick to trust you after the stunt you pulled with the lust demon. It will be more difficult to train him now that you've proven yourself brutish."

Lucanus scoffed. "If this is the advice-"

"More difficult," Servis cut him off. "But not impossible. You need to control him. All his meals, his bathing schedule, any books you give him for leisure, the rounds of torture. And Maker's sake, don't leave him to rot after. Show him tenderness. Show him that you are the only one on whom he can depend for safety. Use your demons, but go with something simpler. Anger. He cradles the disappointment of those he left behind deep within his heart. Find it. Use it."

"What good will any of that do?"

Servis tried not to sigh, he really did. "Beat a dog too much and it will turn on you and leave you bleeding to death. Feed it the occasional treat and it will endure the beatings just for that small bit of affection. Figure it out, Chiron."

Perhaps it was being addressed by his first name, or maybe it was the vitriol in Servis's tone, but Lucanus took a step back, lips parting slightly in confusion. "And that… works?"

It worked with animals and it worked with slaves. Servis usually reserved a different sort of 'training' for his colleagues, but conditioning was conditioning no matter the spin you put on it. "Yes. The more intense the bond, the more quickly you'll have him… doing whatever it is you need him to do."

"Infiltration. Spying on the Inquisition."

Servis thought it a testament to his own skills that just a few minutes ago Lucanus was quick to dismiss him, and now he was eager to offer up information. Or perhaps the man was just that naïve. "I see. Use these methods and it will go much more smoothly. Do not let him go too quickly, however, or your hard work will be for naught. If you wish, I'll test him in a month."

"Test?"

"See which auditory commands he responds to. If he reacts to praise the way he should once you're through with him." Servis was seriously beginning to doubt the competency of Corypheus's leadership abilities. The man – if one could call him that – was supposed to be of Tevinter. Had the ancient Imperium been all that different? Somehow he doubted it. He only hoped that the other factors of Corypheus's plans were better managed than his Venatori.

"Hm. Yes, I suppose. I'll be in touch, then."

"Good luck." It was half-sincere, half-insult. And it seemed that Lucanus realized this, as he scowled, turned, and stalked away. Servis shook his head and returned to his office, wondering if it was possible to get a decent cup of coffee in this pathetic excuse for an outpost. It seemed that he would definitely need it.


	6. Chapter 6

Leliana's agents were able to track Dorian's trail from the rift toward the Dales, but came up empty handed south of the Emerald Graves. Maxwell was worried. He'd heard of the Dales, of course, but growing up in Ostwick, his exposure to Orlais was minimal. He was the youngest of his brothers, promised to the Chantry, and therefore needed no special social breeding outside of which fork to use and how to properly greet foreign delegates. Geographically, he knew where they were located and how large they were. He followed the trail on the war table as Leliana placed down markers, but for now, they were at a dead end.

Confronting Alexius without Dorian was a risky move, but they were out of options at this point. Leliana assured him they could sneak agents inside the castle, and he would serve as a proper distraction. With any luck, they could subdue Alexius with little or no bloodshed. He was glad of that, as Leliana seemed to him like someone who might strike first and ask questions later, despite her faith. He found violence somewhat abhorrent. There was never a situation he'd met yet that he couldn't resolve with words, honeyed or otherwise. Besides, the best talkers could be the most deadly. 

Which was why he was bringing Bull and Sera, in contrast. Bull was refreshing with his honesty and straight-forwardness. He respected the fact that Bull had come out and told him he was a spy. The reasons were sound. The Qunari wanted the Breach sealed as much as any of them. Maxwell was too used to people who would be nice to his face and then talk about him behind his back, not just petty things either. Rumors that would have hurt his position in the Chantry had he not quelled them with efficacy. And Sera… Well, Sera was very transparent. At first she disdained him for his nobility, but when she realized he wasn't 'Lord' anyone (though some insisted on calling him Lord Herald, which was just awkward), she seemed to like him a little better. Though, like Leliana, she was quick to shoot first and ask questions later, he hoped she'd follow his lead and not resort directly to violence.

He considered bringing Cassandra along, as he felt comfortable with her, despite her Seeker training. Or perhaps because of it. He was familiar with templars after all, their presence rather prevalent in Ostwick with the Circle and all. Either way, they'd had long conversations about the Chant of Light, the Maker, and Andraste, and it put him at ease with her. For the same reason he appreciated Cullen, his training giving him an insight into his faith, and even Leliana, though it seemed her faith had been shaken. He didn't hold that against her, not with the loss of Divine Justinia. For Leliana, the blow must have been difficult to take, as it was for all of them. But she never cried. Or if she did, she never let her tears show. In fact, Justinia's death seemed to make her more ruthless. Maxwell already talked her down from one assassination. He suggested she talk to someone, but he doubted it would happen, and endeavored to be there for her if she needed. That was partly why he left Cassandra behind, to temper Leliana if necessary. Though Cassandra was hard-edged, her faith drew people to her. He trusted her implicitly.

"Redcliffe castle," Maxwell sighed. He looked to Bull. "Thoughts?"

Bull narrowed his eye, a pensive look on his face. "Highly defensible. Red's people should be in position though. One way in, over the bridge. The lake's a natural protection, but shitty against siege attacks. The town's built in a valley, which you would think is a bad idea, but they have a strong naval presence. The residents can fall back to the castle – or they _should_ ," he corrected. "Best laid plans and crap."

Maxwell nodded, wishing he'd been trained to understand military tactics the way Bull seemed to. He never needed to command armies, and likely still wouldn't after this was over. That was for his elder brother, George, born the second son to their father. Last Maxwell heard, he was going to take his vows and undergo the vigil to become a templar. Despite never receiving that training for himself, he was still being looked to as a leader, as the voice of Andraste herself. He looked down at his palm, which was thankfully not glowing at the moment. _If I'm supposed to speak for you, I could certainly use some help now with that._ But she didn't answer. No matter how much he prayed, she never answered. And he had to go with what his faith told him. The Maker would hopefully guide him to the right decisions.

"Shall we knock, then?"

"Let's do it," Bull said, nudging him.

With trepidation, Maxwell led the way over the repaired bridge and through the gates. The stone was old and strong underfoot, and as they approached the courtyard, Bull made a soft, grunting noise.

"What is it?" Maxwell asked.

"No guards," Sera said, bow in hand. "Big arse castle like this?"

Bull nodded. Sera had the measure of it. "If he's occupying the castle, there should be at least a couple of guards posted on the battlements."

Maxwell frowned. "Is he overconfident? Why wouldn't you post guards?"

Bull considered this as they trekked up the stairs. "Overconfident, sure. Or not enough people to hold it. You'd fortify the inside first. Or," he speculated, "Red's people got in early. But I don't think that's the case. More likely they're light on soldiers. Good for us."

Maxwell took a breath and pushed open the doors. A grand hall lay beyond, Tevinter heraldry draped over Fereldan tapestries. A fire flickered in the fireplace at the head of the hall, stairs leading up to the throne beyond, which was barely visible from their position. Or at least from Maxwell's position. He glanced to Bull, who nodded slightly. Alexius was there. Two Venatori guards flanked the hall, their staves in hand. Maxwell never had a problem with mages. The Teyrn of Ostwick threw a brilliant party every year and some of the mages attended. Aside from their robes marking them as members of the Circle, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He gave them as much thought as he gave to the baker who delivered their bread every morning. Now, he wondered if he shouldn't have formed a more solid opinion on the mage-templar conflict.

"Announce us," he said, addressing one of the guards.

A young man approached, frowning at the party gathered there. "The magister's invitation was for Master Trevelyan alone. The others will wait here."

Maxwell felt a cold irritation fill him. Any other day, any other circumstance, he might have had more patience for this sort of thing. Protocol must be observed, after all. Even in Tevinter, he assumed, they had a specific etiquette to follow. However, worried for Dorian, in a heightened state of anxiety considering the situation, he could barely muster any politeness as he spoke.

"Well, we could always just convene in the hall if you'd prefer it. I daresay it's cozier to have these discussions in front of the fire though. Or my associates and I could just leave." The last was a bluff. He needed to speak with Felix, and they needed to discuss the mages that were currently under Alexius's thumb.

The greeter looked from Maxwell to Iron Bull, who stood just behind him, a giant two handed axe within easy reach. He did not look at Sera, which Maxwell found both irritating and amusing. If anyone should be watched, it was Sera. Bull you would likely see coming for leagues off, but Sera was known to cut even _his_ purse. The guards followed them up the stairs and they were announced.

"My lord magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived."

Maxwell caught Felix's eye and frowned. He regretted not being able to get a message to him about Dorian, remembering what Dorian said about his friendship with the magister's son. He shook his head slightly, not even sure what he was trying to convey, and turned back to Alexius, who rose from the throne.

"My friend. It's so good to see you again."

Maxwell immediately heard the lie. He was no friend to this man, who likely wanted him dead or worse. Though the Venatori were just a whisper at the moment, their Elder One no more than a boogeyman for the time being, he wanted to stop this threat before it grew. And if they were the ones who took Dorian, which seemed likely, then he definitely lacked any friendly feelings toward them.

Alexius looked at Bull, then Sera, and Maxwell allowed himself a slight smirk. Bringing an elf and a Qunari with him wasn't intentional, but he suddenly realized how insulting it would seem to present them to a magister of Tevinter. Alexius took it in stride, smiling serenely.

"And your associates, of course. I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties." He gestured toward Fiona, who Maxwell hadn't seen at first, standing slightly in shadow.

She spoke up now. "Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?"

The smile did not leave Alexius's face, but Maxwell saw a twitch in his cheek as he addressed the former Grand Enchanter. "Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

Bull muttered something under his breath that Maxwell didn't catch. He could guess, however. "If Grand Enchanter Fiona wants to be part of these talks," he said, purposefully using her title as a measure of respect, "then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition." He kept his tone light on purpose, not trying to seem as if he was challenging Alexius, and merely being courteous.

Fiona looked slightly put out at having to be invited to negotiations that would ultimately decide her fate, but nodded graciously. "Thank you."

Alexius sighed and resumed his seat. Maxwell noticed there were no other chairs in the room, and accepted the discourtesy as an intimidation factor. It was difficult, however, to be scared of anyone knowing what kind of backup he had. As they spoke, Leliana's agents were likely infiltrating the castle.

"The Inquisition needs mages," Alexius started.

"My lord magister!" a guard called, half-jogging into the room. "My lord, an army crossed the bridge! They're nearing the courtyard!"

Maxwell felt a strong hand on his shoulder pull him back, and suddenly he was behind Bull, Sera moving quickly to flank him. The hall filled quickly with Venatori guards, Inquisition agents, and a third army, whose uniforms depicted the Theirin family heraldry on their breastplates and shields. Alexius stood, swiftly sidestepping in front of Felix, staff in hand, a crackle of magic at his fingertips. The Venatori closed ranks around them. Likewise the Inquisition soldiers gathered around Maxwell as a tall, broad-shouldered blond man stepped into the hall and up the stairs, his long regal cloak sweeping behind him.

The king of Ferelden, it seemed, had come to join the negotiations.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't the first time Bull was privy to negotiations like this. Hostile negotiations were far more exciting as far as he was concerned. Hired as a bodyguard, he took a lot of odd jobs. Sitting by, watching two men duel with large fish to decide ownership of a dock ranked as more interesting than this. Three big powerhouses sitting down to talk. He thought he had the measure of Maxwell during their initial conversations. Alexius, well… there was something funny going on with him. He didn't strike Bull as someone who was in it solely for power and glory, despite what he knew about Vints and Venatori. The obvious point was his son. When Felix pretended to be sick to draw their attention, Alexius didn't even hide his distress. Most people like Alexius would play their cards closer to their chest.

The third was, of course, the King of Ferelden. Bull immediately pegged him as a once-physical man who'd slowly been eaten by his own politics. Muscles that were used to fighting were now put toward pushing papers. A veteran of the Fifth Blight, half-brother to the previous king and bastard son of the one before that, at one time, Alistair was a venerable warrior. Now? Not so much. Probably drank a little too much, lost a lot of his templar abilities. There were dark circles under his eyes which indicated he wasn't sleeping well. Not that Bull knew much about running a country, but he wondered if they'd picked the right man for the job. At the very least, he was holding his temper after the outburst in the hall. It was surprising he hadn't tried to arrest Alexius on the spot.

He looked at the other players in this negotiation. Himself and Sera for the Inquisition. The rest of Red's people were out in hall. Behind Alistair, the rightful Arl of Redcliffe, a man called Teagan. And with Alexius, his son. Fiona was there, as well as an elf they'd met briefly upon their first arrival in Redcliffe, a nervous looking boy called Lysas. Somewhat fitting that the Inquisition, who was more or less a neutral party here, would have two representatives in addition to their de facto leader. Not that Sera was all that interested in what was going on at the table, aside from the food that was brought in earlier.

"I was under the impression that I'd given the mages sanctuary," Alistair started, eyes leveled at Fiona. "Not leave to overthrow my Arl and appoint a Tevinter magister to the position. You do realize this could be construed as treason and I could have you imprisoned for what you've done?"

"Let's not be hasty," Maxwell cut in. "Fiona did what she thought was best for her people-"

"Not at the expense of taking one of my cities for a foreign power."

Bull thought he had a point. The tension in the room was so thick he could almost taste it. Maybe it would come down to a fight after all. Shame about the lack of giant fish, though.

Alistair turned to Alexius next. "Anything to add to this discussion, lord magister?"

Alexius sat up a little straighter, and Felix touched his shoulder. "My arrangement with the mages is no concern of the regency of this country. They are free now, are they not?"

"That's a matter for debate," Alistair returned.

"There are several things that need addressing," Maxwell cut in.

Bull waited. Right now Maxwell and Felix were the ones with all the cards, whether Felix knew it or not. With the knowledge that Dorian had been here, working for the Inquisition, and now he was missing, plus the information regarding the Venatori and their interest in the mark on Maxwell's hand, it would be difficult for Alexius to dodge his true intentions.

"The first is the bloody great hole in the sky."

Bull snorted. He was proud of Maxwell for bringing _that_ up. Sure, cities got sacked all the time, power changed hands, scuffles and conflicts were expected. But the hole in the sky shitting out demons? Something else entirely. And yet there would always be some assholes who put their own priorities over world-ending calamities.

"The Inquisition requires the aid of the free mages to close it. Unless," Maxwell said, looking at Alistair, "you have another idea for getting it closed."

Alistair pursed his lips, glaring. Yet Bull could see how uncomfortable he was, using his anger to mask it. "There have been discussions on what to do-"

"The problem is," Maxwell said, leaning forward, "that's all anyone's doing. Talking about it. The Inquisition can act, where everyone else's hands are tied." He tapped the table, enunciating his words to prove his point. "When the Blight hit and the Grey Warden Order was lost, you and the Hero of Ferelden didn't give up. You didn't just sit around and talk about what had to be done. You went out and did it. Actions, Your Majesty, not words." He looked at Alexius. "Dorian is here."

Bull wasn't sure what Maxwell hoped to achieve with the proclamation but if it was to throw Alexius off, it worked.

"He's gone missing."

Felix stepped forward. "What do you mean, missing?"

"Felix," Alexius started.

"He was with us," Maxwell explained, looking at Alexius. "He joined the Inquisition. He was concerned for you. As is your son."

Alexius looked up at Felix, who returned his father's gaze. "Felix-"

"Well!" said Alistair. "This is obviously none of my business. Shall we conclude with how to resolve the, ah. Situation here? In Redcliffe?"

"The mages will join the Inquisition," Maxwell said, looking at Fiona and Lysas. "If you'll consent to a full alliance. We can't close the Breach without you."

Bull saw Sera blanch.

"Just a moment-" Alexius started.

"Father," Felix said. "Let it go."

"I would take this deal, Grand Enchanter," Alistair said. "It's the most generous one you're likely to receive, and you're no longer welcome in Ferelden."

Bull thought this was a bit hasty. _Still a young king. Impulsive. Quick to make enemies._ It was a good thing Maxwell, despite his youth, wasn't hasty at all. Perhaps his faith? He seemed rather pensive opposed to impulsive. Where Alistair was almost petulant in his orders.

Fiona frowned. "It seems we have no other option." She glanced at Lysas, who was shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. "We accept."

Alexius did not challenge them, Felix's hand still gripping his shoulder.

"You'll leave with us," Maxwell said. "As will the magister." He looked at Alexius, who held his gaze. Maxwell looked at Alistair. "If that's acceptable, Your Majesty, we can put this all down to one large misunderstanding."

Alistair stood. "Good. Arl Teagan and I will be at the tavern. You'll have one hour to clear out."

Maxwell and Fiona stood, but Alexius remained seated. Maxwell offered his hand to Alistair and after a moment's hesitation, Alistair shook it.

"I hope that in the future, we can work together, Your Majesty," Maxwell said graciously.

Alistair nodded. "Same."

To say anything else, Bull realized, would be to invite hostilities that Ferelden didn't need. And considering the Inquisition was seen as an Orlesian power, an arm of the Chantry, while stationed on Ferelden soil, they were pushing their limits of hospitality. While still a fledgling operation, they were growing exponentially every day. More people were joining their cause: mercenary groups like the Chargers; sellswords who were once soldiers who were disaffected with wars and skirmishes; and now they had the mages. Not that Bull was particularly fond of the last group, but so long as they didn't go summoning up demons or whatever, he could handle it.

The second the door was shut behind Alistair and Teagan, Felix turned to Maxwell. "What do you mean Dorian's missing?"

"Just a second," Maxwell said, and Felix scowled slightly at the delay. Maxwell turned to address Fiona. "We'll discuss more at Haven," he said gently. "You should get your people ready." He looked at Lysas, who was still fidgeting. "It'll be fine."

"Yes, I know. I hope so," Lysas said, but looked pleased when Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder.

"See that you talk to Cullen if I don't get back with you. Let him know that I sent you to him personally." He looked at Fiona. "Find Cassandra when you reach the gates. Don't let anyone harass you."

Fiona smiled. "Yes, of course."

Bull watched them go. "That was good of you."

Maxwell sighed and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure."

"The kid was obviously uncomfortable. Being a former templar, Cullen can take care of him. Watch after him. He'll be familiar to him without being intimidating."

"Because Cullen's not intimidating?" Maxwell asked, eyebrow raised.

Bull smirked. "Not like how he thinks he is anyway."

A small chuckle from Maxwell, and Felix cleared his throat, interrupting their conversation. Maxwell sighed and took his seat. "We closed a rift," he explained with little premise. "And after the fight, he was gone. My people have tracked him to the Dales, but we lost the trail after that."

Alexius frowned, looking at Felix. "What were you planning?"

"They know, Father. They know everything. The Venatori, their obsession with the Herald… the Elder One. You need to put this aside, don't you realize?"

Maxwell shifted uncomfortably, catching Bull's eye. While the subject matter was dangerous, it was a bit awkward to be privy to a conversation between father and son. This argument appeared to be a familiar one, and Bull thought he was starting to understand Alexius's true motivations.

"Dorian followed us here to try to make you see reason, since you won't listen to me."

"Felix-"

"I'm going to die, Father, you need to understand that and come to terms with it."

The table fell silent. Even Sera, who'd taken her boot knife out and was carving something into the table, stopped and looked up. Alexius looked pale and stricken, and Bull noticed the pull to the corners of his mouth. He wasn't just upset. He looked defeated.

But Felix barreled on. "We can use this time and opportunity to find Dorian, or you can challenge the Herald here and now to a duel or whatever it is you want to do."

"Maybe we should…" Maxwell said, gesturing to the door.

Felix frowned. "If you could give us just a few minutes. Then we'll come with you. You'll need all the help you can get to find Dorian."

"Right. Well. We'll wait just out there for you." Maxwell gestured at Sera and Bull and they left the room, shutting the door behind them to give Felix and his father their privacy. "I guess we should talk to Leliana's agents. See how many Venatori they've knocked out. Or worse." He winced.

Bull gripped his shoulder comfortingly. "It'll be all right." But really, he had doubts if any Venatori not gathered in the hall were alive. Red's people were way too efficient.

Maxwell nodded. "I sure hope you're right."


	8. Chapter 8

The mages reached Haven before their little group did. Bull didn't hear what Alexius said to the remaining Venatori members, but he doubted that anything good would come of it. With King Alistair's men and the Inquisition's agents still occupying the castle, however, they were outnumbered and forced to leave, lest they forfeit their lives for a pointless fight. The trek back to Haven was nearly silent, save for some quiet whispers from Red's agents. He watched Maxwell who had a pensive look on his face, his hand straying as it often did to the pendant of Andraste around his neck. They approached the final stretch of road, and in the distance, the village of Haven appeared before them. Cullen and Cassandra, both dressed in armor depicting the flamed eye of the Inquisition, were waiting for them at the chantry.

"Arrest the magister." This order from Cullen.

"Wait," Maxwell started, but two soldiers had already pulled Alexius away from the group. "On what charges? You can't-"

"Apologies, Herald," Cullen said. "This isn't a matter for debate."

"The flames it isn't!"

"It is a formality," Cassandra cut in. She leveled her gaze at Alexius. "The magister understands, I am sure."

Cassandra, so much shorter than the men assembled, somehow managed to appear larger than life. Not only because she outranked everyone despite both the Seekers and the Templar Order being disbanded, but because she knew that in order to be heard amongst men, she needed to be more than a pair of tits and an ass. Bull admired her for that. The silence stretched.

"Yes, of course," Alexius said, offering his wrists.

Cullen closed the iron shackles around them and the runes etched into the metal glowed brightly before dulling. He held a second pair in his hands, and turned to Felix.

"My son is not involved," Alexius said coolly.

"He's a magister-"

"No, he is not. He is a boy," Alexius cut across Cullen's protests.

"I'll speak for him," Maxwell said, stepping up in front of Felix, who looked slightly embarrassed at having two people speak up in his defense.

"If it makes your people more comfortable," Felix offered.

Maxwell looked at him. "It would make me _un_ comfortable to have you locked in chains and in the dungeons." He drew himself up, and though shorter than Cullen, managed to cut an impressive-looking figure in the custom armor that Harritt designed for him. "Felix will be my responsibility."

"And the mages?" Cullen asked, though it seemed to Bull more of a challenge than an inquiry. "The former Grand Enchanter informed us upon her arrival that they were to be-"

"Full allies."

"With all due respect-"

Bull snorted. Any line that ever began like that implied severe disrespect.

"We will discuss it in a moment," Cassandra said, barely raising her voice. She gestured at Leliana's people. "Take the lord magister-"

"Alexius," Maxwell interrupted.

Cassandra took a breath before continuing. "Escort Lord Magister Alexius to the cells. See that he is comfortable and accommodated. And watched. His son may sit with him if he chooses to." She waited until her orders were fulfilled, and then turned to Cullen. "The Herald made a decision when a decision needed to be made."

"Yes, but do we really-"

"Look," Maxwell said, lowering his voice to avoid eavesdroppers, "this isn't the place to discuss it, even if there is anything to discuss. The less our people see us arguing, the better."

Bull found himself once again pleased with Maxwell and his directness. Cassandra agreed at once, and Cullen begrudgingly led the way to the chantry. Sera, no longer interested in what was going on, left without a word, heading in the direction of the tavern. But he decided to follow Maxwell and the others, and no one argued his presence. They joined Leliana and Josephine in the war room a minute later.

"As I was saying," Cullen said. "Giving the mages free reign to do whatever they want-"

"The templars would have been much better?" Maxwell asked. "After I saw what they did in Val Royeaux, I'm not sure I think much of them anymore. Their power has gone to their heads. They were never like this back home."

Cullen scowled, fist pressed against the war table, as if resisting the urge to slam it into the wood. "Not all the Order is corrupt!"

"And yet not enough of them have turned to noble purpose like you," Maxwell said, rather graciously.

His words seemed to soften Cullen just a bit.

"The Seekers have disbanded as well," Cassandra said. "With the annulment of the Nevarran Accord, we cannot count on either of our former brethren for assistance. While I do not agree with giving the mages free reign of the camp, they will not be walking around unchecked. They are our allies and will be treated as such. Any fighting that occurs will be dealt with swiftly. We cannot have discord within our ranks."

"Or at the top of them either," Maxwell said. "I depend on you four to figure things out, and it's been nothing but arguing for weeks now. You sent me to Redcliffe in hopes of recruiting the mages to seal the Breach and we've done that. Not to mention avoided a war with Ferelden."

Bull listened as Maxwell recalled their stay at Redcliffe, the discussions and the negotiations. The Inquisition was doing good work, but he was right in his initial assessment. There was no leader. And Maxwell was too humble to appoint himself outright, even if he was taking charge now.

"And what of the magister now occupying our holding cells?" Cullen asked. "Once the Breach is closed, then what?"

"Then we use him to help us look for Dorian," Maxwell said, looking down at the map on the war table. He touched the spot on the Dales that was marked. "He didn't go willingly. We know that." He looked at Leliana for confirmation.

"My agents have said as much," she agreed. "There was a struggle, and reports of an unconscious prisoner matching his description."

Maxwell pursed his lips, and nodded resolutely. "Then that's my next focus after the Breach. I'll speak with Fiona and ready the mages. We'll head out tomorrow morning first thing. Any other questions?"

Cullen stared down at the war table, shaking his head slightly. Everything in his posture screamed irritation. Bull didn't blame him. He was trained to believe that mages deserved to be locked up. Seeing the way the saarebas were treated under the Qun, well… Bull couldn't really make a comparison. And every mage _he'd_ met so far that hadn't tried to kill him seemed capable and in control of themselves. Even if Dorian side-eyed him for being Qunari and Solas took potshots at the Qun every chance he got. Fiona appeared sensible and he liked Lysas. Felix was friendly enough and practical. Yeah, Bull liked that about him. Looking at the bigger picture. The mages didn't seem to be all bad. And a big part of him just felt a little sorry for them. Being different was difficult.

"No, I think that will be all," Cassandra said tersely. "Excuse me."

She left first, then Josephine. Leliana, keen though she seemed to be to stay behind to listen to whatever conversation was coming next, left, shutting the door behind her.

"We're trying to prevent a war, Cullen," Maxwell urged. "We'll find out what the templars are doing, just as we'll look for the missing Seekers. After the Breach is sealed. After I talk to Alexius to find out what's going on with his Venatori. They weren't happy to be sent away, and it's entirely possible Alexius is using this as an opportunity to spy on us. But between Leliana's people and Bull here, there's little chance of anyone infiltrating our ranks. And if it's the mages you're worried about, you don't have to. I'll take that responsibility."

"And will you take responsibility should they turn into abominations and start killing people?" Cullen asked, finally looking at him.

Bull noticed how tired he seemed. There was something else to this. Not just what happened in Kirkwall with the destruction of its chantry. Something more he couldn't quite put his finger on. He could ask, but he doubted Cullen would tell him. And Maxwell didn't seem to know. Looked like it was going to be a long night of writing reports and requesting information from his own people on Cullen's background. He hated not having the full picture. That usually meant people got hurt. Or worse.

"That won't-"

"Don't say it won't happen," Cullen whispered. He cleared his throat, his voice rising as he spoke. "I've seen it. I've seen what happens when mages get scared or angry, and the Breach being open like this makes them – makes everyone! - more vulnerable. It's not about them losing control. The Breach is a threat to all of us."

"Then we'll close it," Maxwell said, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "I'm with you, Cullen. We're all on the same side here."

Cullen sighed, dropping his gaze. "My apologies. I'd hate for you to think my caution has turned to paranoia. I trust you, Herald, to get us through this."

"So no pressure?" Maxwell asked, grinning.

Cullen chuckled, a gloved hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He rolled his shoulders and sighed. "None whatsoever. Simply close the giant gaping hole in the sky and we'll be finished."

"We still need to find whoever opened it," Maxwell reminded him. He turned and pulled open the door. "Good night, Commander. I'll see you in the morning. I assume you're coming with us?"

"If you require my assistance."

"It would be appreciated," Maxwell smiled. He returned the nod from Cullen, and Bull followed him out.

"Where to now?" Bull asked.

Maxwell laughed lightly. "You've been a bit of my shadow these past couple of days. I'm sorry."

Bull shrugged. "Hey, it ain't like I got anywhere else to be. Chargers are off doing stuff right now, and following you is better than drinking alone. And you kind of need someone to watch your back. You're more likely to stab yourself with that sword than actually hit a guy."

"Gee, thanks, Bull."

"I only meant-"

"I was teasing."

Bull saw the slight smirk playing around Maxwell's lips and laughed. "Nice to know you're capable of it."

"We can't all be serious all the time," he said, and started toward the dungeons. "They allow jokes under the Qun, don't they?"

Bull was about to reply when one of Cullen's soldiers raced into the chantry past them, barreling into the door to the war room. He was in such a panic, they didn't even need to strain to hear him.

"An army, Commander! Over the mountain!"

Maxwell, tired and dirty from the road, looked up at Bull. "Do you think they're here for a fight?" He looked unsure.

"If they are," Bull said shortly, "we'll be ready for 'em."


	9. Chapter 9

Pavus was shivering. Lucanus watched him carefully. He'd been watching him daily, a spell put on the prison cell to keep him awake. Servis said this method was the most effective, and least harmful. At least in that it wouldn't leave physical scars. And for his purpose, that's exactly what Lucanus needed. While whipping the Pavus heir bloody would have felt so satisfying, to leave him with marks might be telling. Then again, if there was evidence of physical torture, the Inquisition might not guess at what was to come. He would have to think this over. As much irritation as it caused him, he would likely speak with Servis regarding this nugget of thought as well. Perhaps he could draw some blood after all.

It wasn't as if he disliked the family specifically. It was more or less the irritation of having to bend and scrape to houses like theirs. His own lineage was full of successful mages, but as they couldn't trace their tree back far enough, they were automatically lower class, never to ascend to the higher ranks of the Magisterium. Not that politics were all that interesting to Lucanus. And the Chantry bored him as well. But it wasn't as if he had all that many paths open to him. 

When he came into his magic, his family was so very thrilled. Another mage to lift them higher in the ranks. Never mind that his father – a Soporati – was nothing more than a very shrewd businessman. He held many charters with the Carta and the local merchants' and thieves' guilds. A legacy that would be passed on to his eldest brother. His next eldest was promised to the army. A good Imperial soldier carrying the Lucanus name for the glory of Tevinter and its Archon. His sister would marry into a family richer and more powerful than their own. Lucanus himself left the country when heard of the whisperings of the Venatori, scouted by Livius Erimond who had his fingers in every pie. It was better than being stuck in the Chantry the rest of his life, learning the Chant and having no real power despite the lies the Chantry members told themselves.

While he'd never participated in the lower house debates, he'd seen a fair few. Dorian took part of the bureaucratic nonsense, arguing this or that while he was still school-aged. He was exceedingly intelligent and fierce in his convictions, but to hear the rumors, an embarrassment overall to his father and his house. The whisperings surrounding his disownment were hushed up, and indeed Lucanus had already been out of the country for months before he'd heard of it. The gossip came with a delivery of new slaves to help with the excavation process. At first it didn't mean much to him, then the Elder One demanded a way into the Inquisition. Lucanus jumped at the idea.

It was embarrassingly easy to capture him. A spell to stun him, a rune on the ground. The other mage, an elf of all things, wasn't watching. Useless race, if there ever was one. At least, if one wanted something done properly outside of menial tasks like cooking and cleaning. He'd been worried about the Qunari, wary of the oxmen that plagued their northern borders. But it turned out they were so busy dealing with the demons that no one noticed a fourth of their party was missing. He wondered if they were looking for him, or if they decided he'd left of his own accord. Regardless, they would never find him this far out in the Western Approach, the doors of this ancient ruin warded against uninvited guests.

A rat scuttled out from a hole in the wall. Dorian, who was lying on the sad mattress, eyes wide and staring, didn't react. He was still wrapped in Servis's cloak, shivering though it wasn't cold at all. In fact, it was quite stuffy. The rat sniffed at Dorian's fingertips, which twitched. Dorian lifted his head suddenly, as if realizing it wasn't in a waking dream, and the rat scurried away quickly.

"Hello?"

Lucanus sighed, then unlocked the door and stepped in. Dorian struggled to sit up, pulling the cloak tightly around himself. Lucanus handed him a bundle of clothing.

"What, no silk?" Dorian asked, taking it. 

His words were slightly slurred, as if he was drunk, but Lucanus knew better. He'd been carefully monitoring his intake of food and drink, and the alcohol was kept to a bare minimum. He watched Dorian dress, trying to stand and failing as his limbs shook from lack of sleep. With concentrated effort, he pulled the cotton trousers over his hips and fumbled at the ties. Fatigued fingers gave up with the third try and he shrugged out of the cloak before tugging the tunic over his head. Dressed, he wrapped the cloak back around himself.

"Going to rape me again?" Dorian asked, peering up at him. "Bleed me so you can summon another fucking demon?"

"I never did that." _Let's see if your methods work, Servis._

Dorian swore. "Yes you did. A lust demon."

Lucanus shook his head, looking as if this were news to him. "No, I didn't. I would've remembered. Are you sure?"

"Yes, you son of bitch!"

"Perhaps you don't recall. You were brought here a month ago by Tevinter Imperium officials. You were cited as consorting with an enemy of the state."

Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, stunned. "A month? No. No I haven't."

"Your father was concerned. Are you hungry?"

"What do you mean a month ago? What's my father got to do with this?"

Lucanus fought to keep the smirk from his face. Dorian was confused already. Perhaps this was going to be easier than he thought. "Your father wanted us to bring you home."

"Well I'm not going," Dorian said, and crossed his arms like a petulant child. "I have things to do. Important things. So you can bugger off unless you're planning on letting me out."

"We can't do that, I'm afraid." He was keeping his voice lofty, free from emotion aside from the light sympathy, the way Servis instructed him. Apparently this was good for slaves as well, and would hopefully put Dorian at ease and cause him to trust Lucanus faster. "Don't you remember what happened? After you were caught whoring your way around Minrathous, you decided to betray your country. If you cooperate, we won't hurt you."

"Hurt me? You've already… I never betrayed anyone!" Dorian rubbed at his eyes, then tugged at the cloak that threatened to slip down his shoulders.

"It's all right," Lucanus said softly. "Just cooperate and you'll be fine. Your father wants you back, but you're no longer his son, isn't that right?"

"I… no. What?" Dorian ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I'm hungry."

Lucanus stood and strode back into the hall. He'd left the door open. With the spell that kept Dorian awake and unable to sleep came also a suppression field. A technique he learned from the southern templars. At the very least, they were under the Elder One's controls and would not try it on _him_. Though when he reentered the room, carrying a tray, he felt the field around him, the stifling of his magic. He had no idea how Soporati handled it. Then again, if you never had magic to begin with, you likely had no idea what you were missing.

Lucanus set the tray down. "Here. Eat it slowly or you'll get sick."

Dorian took the bowl of porridge with shaking hands, and tucked it carefully on his lap. Like a child, he bent double and held the spoon clumsily. The porridge had just the faintest trace of magebane in it, but sugar and honey masked the taste. A glass of fresh druffalo milk sat on the tray as well, but Dorian ignored it for now. He ate slowly, concentrating on each bite. Lucanus heard his stomach growl loudly.

"Have you been eating your bread?"

"Tastes disgusting. Rats got a piece."

Lucanus clicked his tongue in sympathy. "We'll move you to better quarters if you want. You just have to behave."

"Behave? I have been fucking behaving. There's nothing to do in this bloody cell. And I'm tired!"

He looked it. The kohl around his eyes was smudged. His hair was ratty and loose. He smelled fairly bad, though the entirety of the ruins stank of mildew and death. The bucket in the corner, emptied daily by the slaves that brought the bread and water, wasn't doing him any favors, either.

"Listen, Dorian, I can help you."

"Get me out of here."

"All you need to do is tell us about the Inquisition. Tell us about the Herald of Andraste and the mark on his hand."

Dorian frowned at his porridge, contemplating it. He picked up the cup of milk, overturned it into the bowl, then clumsily chucked the bowl against the wall. Without saying another word, he lay back down on the mattress and turned away from Lucanus.

Lucanus sighed. "Very well. Maybe if you get some sleep, you'll be more amenable. I'll come see you tomorrow."

He didn't expect Dorian to answer, and was not disappointed when he remained silent. Once the door was shut and locked, Lucanus removed the spell that kept Dorian awake, and checked the time. Four hours of sleep would keep him on edge while perhaps making him more cooperative. And if he led Dorian to believe that he'd sleep for much longer than that? Well, the results would prove interesting one way or another.

Feeling pleased with himself, he returned to the upper levels of the ruins to seek out Servis, and hopefully more advice.


	10. Chapter 10

The following few days were interesting. Lucanus progressed time for Dorian, letting him get a sparse few minutes of sleep every so often. He came down once to see Dorian having a conversation with someone who wasn't there, and wondered if he was truly hallucinating or if it was simply a waking dream. His body was reacting badly to the lack of sleep, and he seemed to be getting desperate. Servis advised him to move things forward, to show him a bit of comfort. A better, rat-free room, and a bath. He even offered his personal slave for assistance.

He unlocked the cell door and pushed it open, looking in. "Dorian?"

Dorian, who was curled on the mattress again, looked up, wincing in the torchlight. "It's not food yet, is it? Food… time for food?" He frowned, stumbling through his words.

Lucanus wondered if he was this amusing when drunk as well. "No. I was wondering if you wanted a bath."

Dorian sat up, rubbing at his face. "A bath? Why?" He was immediately suspicious.

"Just because you were disowned doesn't mean you're not worthy of a bath. Come now. Do you need help standing?"

He pulled himself up on shaking legs and stumbled. Lucanus was there to catch him, keeping him upright. He lowered his voice when he spoke, lips close to Dorian's ear.

"There we are."

Dorian tilted his head, rubbing his ear against his shoulder. "Don't. I want… I'm so tired."

"I know you are," Lucanus said, leading him out. "But you've been sleeping so much. Are you ill? You know if you just told us about the Inquisition, we'd let you go. That's all you need to do. Really you're just making it worse for yourself. Being stubborn."

"Not going to do that," Dorian said, yawning so hard he needed to stop walking a moment, eyes filling with tears. He wiped them away and sighed.

"It's all right." They walked down the hall and up a flight of stairs, Lucanus half-carrying him. "You disappointed your father. So we're used to that from you."

Lucanus felt him tense. It shouldn't have felt so good to be so cruel. He opened the door of the room he had the slaves clean out. A copper tub, full to almost the brim with steaming hot water, sat visibly in the center. Dorian's eyes widened a bit when he saw it.

"Go on," Lucanus urged him.

Dorian hesitated, but let Servis's cloak drop from his shoulders. He undressed carefully, and on shaking legs, climbed into the tub with calculated movements. Lucanus retrieved the tray of bathing necessities and placed it on a stool next to the tub.

"I assume you're capable."

Dorian took the washcloth with clumsy fingers, and gripped the bar of soap. "I am not."

"Not capable?"

"Not a disappointment. My father… it wasn't about…"

Lucanus took a seat and waited, watching as Dorian soaped up the washcloth and started to wipe away the sand and sweat from his skin.

"I'm a good… good son. Don't tell me… you don't know a damn thing about me or my father."

"Perhaps I don't," Lucanus agreed. "But I do know he disowned you. So you must have done something to disappoint him. If you helped your country, Dorian, he would forgive you. If you helped us stop the Inquisition."

Dorian shook his head. "No."

"The Inquisition is bad, Dorian," Lucanus urged. "They want to take power from Tevinter. They've already hurt a lot of people."

"No, they're closing the Breach." Dorian twisted the washcloth in his hand, then started scrubbing at his skin furiously.

"And once they're done with that, they have plans to invade the Imperium. They want to control all of Thedas." As far as lies went, it wasn't unbelievable. "And you want to help them."

"I don't want to help them… I want to help them…" He sighed, and closed his eyes, letting both the cloth and the soap slip from his hands. "They're good people."

"How good could they be?" Lucanus urged. "They're working for the Orlesian Chantry. The same one that would suppress us, Dorian. Throw us in prisons. Our Circles would be razed. No more prestigious schools of magic. Our rich history lost to a bunch of southerners."

Dorian remained silent, and Lucanus let him think. Implanting these ideas into a fatigued mind was easy. He just had to hope that they would bear fruit. Dorian needed to believe these were his own thoughts. He stood, and Dorian looked up at him.

"I'm going to leave you alone for a bit. There's a towel over there, and once you're finished, one of the slaves will be in to bring you to a room. You'll have a nice hot meal and you can think about helping us out… or remain a traitor to your country."

He left the room, but looked through the discreet hole in the wall to see if his words had any affect. Dorian drew his knees up to his chest and laid his cheek against them, eyes closed. He would likely fall asleep now, the ward to keep him awake currently removed. Judging from the hunch of his shoulders though, he was extremely tense and hopefully thinking of the lies about the Inquisition. They weren't so far from the truth, he thought. After all, if they succeeded in sealing the Breach, they would be the sworn enemy of the Elder One, who would eventually rule all Thedas in the name of Tevinter.

"I trust it goes well?"

Lucanus jumped. He hated being sneaked up on, and Servis seemed to enjoy doing it. The shadows were his friend, sneaky, oily man that he was. "So far."

"Is he breaking down?" Servis asked, waving him aside to peer into the hole. "Ah, he's asleep."

"After he finishes, I'm going to leave him alone for a few days."

"Solitary confinement. A harsh punishment that will no doubt force him inside his own mind," Servis said, straightening. He leaned against the wall with such casualness that Lucanus wondered if he practiced the pose just to get it right. "A dangerous place to be."

"Then you agree?"

Servis shrugged a shoulder. "Is he responding well to the sleep deprivation?"

"He believes he's been here for much longer than he has, and his motor and cognitive skills are deteriorating. If he doesn't tell me anything about the Inquisition after this, I'll punish him again." Alternating sleep deprivation with solitary confinement in complete darkness ought to jar him into letting something slip. "I… was wondering."

"I bet."

Lucanus scowled. Servis might be more knowledgeable about these things, but he didn't have to be such a pretentious asshole about it. "The cruder methods of punishment. Whipping him."

Servis raised an eyebrow. "Can be effective."

"Once we release him to the Inquisition as our spy, thoroughly broken, he'll need an excuse as to why he was gone. If we whip him and leave him bloody they'll think he was being held for that. He could convincingly lie about what we've conditioned him to do."

Lucanus hated that Servis never seemed to change his expression. It always looked as if he were mildly amused. The silence wore on, and he silently counted out a minute.

"Wield the whip yourself. Do not apologize, but make him apologize for it. If he believes you're doling out the punishment because he's done something wrong, he'll work harder in the future to avoid it. When you're finished, show him tenderness."

"Tenderness."

"You half-carried him up the stairs. I think you can manage a little aftercare."

"How did you-"

"This is my castle, so to speak," Servis said, gesturing easily with one hand before crossing his arms again. "Remember, you were stationed elsewhere before stumbling in here for your pet project."

Lucanus furrowed his brow, annoyed. Simply because he'd been sent here for this, his former duties reassigned, didn't mean that Servis _owned_ these ruins. He had no jurisdiction over him, and certainly had no right to spy on him. "I'll take it under advisement."

"Of course you will."

Lucanus resisted the urge to throw a fireball at Servis's retreating back. He needed him for now, though. Perhaps when this was all over, he would find a way to discredit him in the Imperium. Or the Elder One would praise him thoroughly and grant him the power to put Servis in his place. This thought more than anything inspired him to push forward. He would break Dorian Pavus, and the Elder One would reward him thoroughly for the results.

And he would have the last laugh.


	11. Chapter 11

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Bull listened quietly, standing in the doorway of the small room. The door had been left ajar, and he didn't think that he was intruding, but Maxwell was obviously in the middle of prayer. He was kneeling, hands clasped with his head bowed, eyes closed. Bull thought he looked at peace, despite his wounds he sustained in the escape from Haven. He needed some peace after the last few days. Dragging a mountain down on top of yourself and somehow managing to survive both it and that Corypheus asshole? Maybe there was something to Maxwell's Maker after all. Then again, that would be doing Maxwell a discredit. He was resourceful. Strong. Enduring.

_Well. Fuck._

Bull was unused to having crushes. Sure, there were people he met through his life that he admired. People he kept close to, good friends. Krem for example. But the Inquisitor? And if that wasn't a well-deserved promotion, Bull didn't know what was. He would've been Bull's first choice to lead the Inquisition. After all, he'd been doing it up until that point. Selfless, stupid man that he was. And if Maxwell had gotten himself killed? Bull wasn't sure how he felt about that thought, and shoved it away brutally. Bah. Should go take it out on those training dummies Cassandra had set up in the courtyard. He wondered if they were sturdier than the ones back in Haven. Or maybe he should just go ask Krem to spar. But his lieutenant would know something was up.

"Bull?"

Bull blinked. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Maxwell stopped praying and was now looking over at him. It didn't help that he was still on his knees, either. His thoughts went from innocent crushes to… well. Something entirely less wholesome. He smirked. "You doing okay, boss?"

Maxwell sighed and sat back, leaning against the stairs. Bathed in flickering candlelight in the otherwise dark room, he looked younger. He was already young, barely past his twentieth year. And more tired-looking than he should be at that age. He lifted a bandaged hand and ran it through his hair, tried for a smile, and failed as it faltered. Instead, he shrugged. Bull stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself.

"You wanna talk?"

Maxwell shrugged again, looking around the room. "I don't know. It's a little overwhelming."

Careful of the candles, Bull sat on the stairs next to him. "You were doing all right this morning."

"Was I? I must be better at faking it than I thought." Maxwell sighed and leaned forward, rubbing at his face tiredly. "Is this what the Maker wants from me? To be his bride's prophet? Or was it all a mistake? Corypheus-"

"Hey. That guy's just an asshole who wants to tear the world apart. He's crazy, too," Bull added. "Look, I don't know about your Maker, but if He was going to send anyone to help, He picked a good guy to do it."

Maxwell let out a soft laugh, quiet and almost self-deprecating. "Maybe he should've sent someone who actually knows how to fight." He held out his left hand, showing it to Bull. It was glowing ever so faintly in the dark. "I used to know what my life meant. It wasn't glamorous but it wasn't… this. How can I hope to defeat someone like that?"

Bull frowned and lifted his hand to Maxwell's, hesitated, but drew his finger along his palm. It didn't feel any different to him than he thought it would. Just skin. The mark quieted and then disappeared. "You've got the whole Inquisition behind you. You know it's normal to feel like this. No good leader is doubt-free."

"What about you?" Maxwell asked, fingers flexing as Bull's careful touches turned into a light massage.

"Me? Oh yeah, scared shitless all the time."

Maxwell laughed again. "You are a Maker damned liar, Iron Bull."

Bull smirked. "Maybe a little."

"And what about the leader of the Qun?"

"Which one? There's technically three. You mean the Arishok?"

"Sure, I suppose. I… I profess I don't know a lot about the Qun. Just what you've told me."

Bull grunted thoughtfully, pulling Maxwell's arm toward him, massaging upward. It was largely an unconscious act to give comfort, though he was aware of how it seemed. Maxwell wasn't pulling away though, and he wasn't tensing up. "The Qun gives certainty. If any of us ever had doubt, we'd submit to the Ben-Hassrath."

"What, even your leaders?"

"What good's a leader if they never admit it when they're wrong or can't handle it?"

"I… suppose."

Bull gestured a massaging motion, and Maxwell turned slightly away to give him easier access. Through the thin fabric of his silky shirt, Bull felt the tense muscles in his shoulders. He watched Maxwell's chin drop, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He continued, thumbs pressing along Maxwell's shoulder blades, up to the back of his neck. He was too wound up.

"You've got good people behind you," Bull said quietly. "Cassandra won't bullshit you. Josephine will handle the nobles that you can't. Cullen's a good commander, and Red's got spies almost as good as me."

Another laugh. "You're so modest."

"Hey, if you got it, flaunt it," Bull teased. "Tell me what's really bothering you. It's not all about being on top, yeah?" _Probably not the best choice of words there,_ he thought. 

"Mostly?" Maxwell started. "It's this thing with the Venatori. The templars… I half-expected something like that. After everything that happened in Val Royeaux and the whispers out of Therinfal Redoubt, it was a matter of time. And Cullen talks about Samson, the way the Chantry treated him, it's really no surprise the templars fell to Corypheus. They're lost. They've turned their backs on the Maker in search of a new god. Faith is important, but Corypheus…" He sighed deeply, which turned into a soft moan as Bull worked out a particularly kinked muscle. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Alexius or Felix yet," he said finally.

"They're in the dungeon?"

Maxwell shook his head, leaning forward a bit more. "No, they have a proper room. Guarded, but not a cell. I talked Cassandra into it."

"Want me to talk to 'em?" Bull's hands slid down his back, then up, thumbs digging into either side of his spine. Maxwell's shirt rode up, revealing the bare skin underneath, and it was warm to the touch as Bull worked the spot just above his tailbone.

"No, but – oh." Maxwell fell silent a moment, hand splayed on the stone steps. "That's distracting."

"You want me to stop?" Bull asked, unable to keep his voice from growing husky. The sexual tension was thick. Or maybe it was just him. Had he read the situation wrong? It was rare, but known to happen.

"Maker, no," Maxwell breathed. His fingers flexed as Bull slowly continued. "No, but if you could come with me. You're better at telling if someone's lying."

"Sure thing, boss. You know I've got your back."

"Literally," Maxwell laughed. He sat up, stretching, and turned to look at Bull. "Tomorrow morning?"

Bull dropped his hands, the moment passed. Or had it? "Sure thing. Come find me and I'll go with you."

"I'm hoping they can help with the search for Dorian. He's got to be out there somewhere."

_Yep. Read that wrong._ Bull was careful though, patting Maxwell softly on the shoulder. "We'll find him."

"What if he got hurt because of me?" Maxwell asked. "It's one thing with our soldiers. They signed up for this. They know the risks. Dorian just wanted my help with Alexius. To warn me. He wasn't-"

"Hey, hey, stop," Bull said, grabbing his wrist, perhaps a bit too roughly. He eased up, but looked at him no less intensely. "Look, I don't know him as well as you do, but I never met a Vint who did anything he didn't want to. If he didn't want to be out there fighting with us, he would've stayed in Redcliffe, right?"

Maxwell nodded. "You're right."

"Usually am."

"Modest."

"Think we've already established that."

Maxwell gave him a little shove, and smiled. "Thanks, Bull." He stood and offered a hand up.

Bull took it, though didn't use it for leverage. Despite Maxwell's emotional strength, he was still kind of small for a human. "So you'll find me tomorrow morning."

Maxwell nodded, and Bull felt his thumb draw across his skin. He wondered if it was intentional or not. Either way, a lot of mixed signals. He'd have to wait and see.

"See you later, Bull."

"See you."

He watched Maxwell exit to the garden, leaving the door open and a slightly chill wind blew into the makeshift chapel. The candles puffed out, and Bull glanced up at Andraste through the dim light of the evening moon and stars.

"Bet you don't have any answers either," he huffed. She remained silent. "Thought so."

With a lot to think about, Bull retired to the tavern.


	12. Chapter 12

_Father,_

_Greetings. I hope this letter reaches you swiftly. I trust you received my previous one. Just in case you haven't, please tell Mother and everyone that I'm alive and fine. The avalanche at Haven was devastating. We lost so many people, but I take comfort that they are at the Maker's side now, and pray for them daily. If you could ask the Revered Mother if she could light a candle for them, I'd really appreciate that._

_So many things have happened in such a short time, and I'd like to tell you all about it, but I can't. The letter may be intercepted. And before you think I'm being dramatic, I assure you, I know what I'm talking about. It's not like it is in Ostwick. We're a full military operation. I would invite you and the others to come, but it's just not safe right now. In fact, the Free Marches are probably safer than most countries._

_My advisors have seen fit to appoint me leader of the Inquisition. It feels rather surreal, and I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. I know that if you were here you would tell me to trust in the Maker, to listen to Him. This mark on my hand, it confuses me. If it was His gift, then why me? I know we shouldn't question His methods. If Andraste saved me, I should be thankful. But I have so many doubts. Not about the Maker or his bride, just-_

Maxwell hesitated, a drop of ink dotting the page. He and his father were close, but Lord Trevelyan never cared for weakness in his children. When he was younger, he was always left out. His older brothers tended to gang up on him at times. He didn't like to roughhouse, preferring to sit in his mother's salons to hear the stories the older women told about the 'good old days', or listening to the soldiers who patrolled their estate swap stories about their time in battles or even minor skirmishes. He learned to read at a very young age, while his brothers thought it a waste of time. But he loved tales of all kinds, from learning about Andraste and the Maker, to fantastical stories of Grey Wardens riding their griffons into battle against the wretched darkspawn. And then later, he learned how to play the lute, and his imagination grew through song as well as stories.

This was a source of amusement and annoyance for his brothers. They thought no matter where a man was promised, be it inheritance of an estate or trained as soldier or even a common practice like becoming a tradesman or a merchant, reading and singing was women's work. Never mind the fact that a lot of the bards and minstrels that came through their halls were indeed men. They were called "Lavender Poets" and "Orlesian Queens" by some. When he was younger, Maxwell didn't understand. None of the singers seemed to wear an abundance of lavender, and Orlais had always had emperors and empresses, not queens. And it wasn't until later that Maxwell understood the euphemisms. He was mortified to find out that's what his brothers thought of him, and realized that's why they were always trying to 'toughen him up'.

Because he was small for his age, his eldest brother Michael was able to drag him around like a newborn calf. He tried to fight back, but he was always overpowered. His father told him to pick himself up and figure out a way get them to stop. Once he got too old to hide behind his mother's skirts, it was either learn to take a punch, or learn to avoid getting punched. He chose the latter. While his brothers never responded well to his prodigious vocabulary, if he could get in a jab or two while the adults around, they always seemed to enjoy a chuckle at their expense. That didn't always work, however, so he resorted to less subtle methods. It was very easy to play the innocent child in a one-sided prank war. For every bruise he endured, they would suffer getting locked in a makeshift trappers' pit or hung upside down by their ankles from a snare. He would negotiate their surrender in the form of mutual agreement concerning his physical well-being.

Of course, they all grew up and the fighting faded with the bruises. Now they were civil, if a bit distant. But both his brothers had families of their own. He'd been promised to the Chantry practically since birth, and he wasn't expected to marry and carry on the Trevelyan name. Which was good, because he knew he was different when his brothers started chasing after girls. His father called him a late bloomer. He sought counsel in the Chantry, speaking privately with the Maker. Though their Chantry had several Brothers and Sisters who would happily take confession, he knew better than to reveal any secrets about himself or his family to someone who wasn't family. His father always impressed upon him the importance of keeping up appearances. So when he made the slow realization that he enjoyed the soldiers' company for more than just their stories, he turned to the Maker.

Sadly, the Maker didn't have any more answers than he did. He fasted for three days and three nights to clear his head, hoping for some sort of answer. The Revered Mother admired his piety, but he rankled at the praise. If she'd known what he was praying over, she might not have been so complimentary. In the end he decided that if the Maker had wanted him to be different, He wouldn't have created him this way. He thought about that now, tapping the quill feather against his cheek.

"If the Maker thought mages were dangerous, why did He create them?" he mused out loud to his empty room. "If… hm."

He stood, tossing down his quill, and started to pace. He would finish the letter later. Earlier that morning he talked to Alexius and Felix, and so many thoughts about mages and mage rights and the fate of the world were weighing heavily on his mind. Felix was instrumental in convincing Alexius to turn from the Elder One. Corypheus. But who was Corypheus? Where did he come from? Why was he trying to destroy the world? He asked Blackwall, but the Warden dismissed it, saying that they should concentrate on defeating evil, instead of trying to understand it. But that's not what Maxwell was taught. He couldn't trap Corypheus in a pit or catch him in a snare. He tried to believe that he could be convinced to give up the path he'd started walking. Nearly everyone could be turned from darkness, couldn't they? He talked with Mother Giselle, who out of all those surrounding him at Skyhold, seemed to put things into better perspective for him.

_"All things in this world are of the Maker," she said, touching his hand gently. "He has given us a precious gift. The freedom to choose. I do not claim to understand Corypheus or what his intentions truly are, but he has chosen."_

_"But isn't it our duty to guide him back toward the light?"_

_She smiled at him. "The Maker's love cannot be forced upon the unwilling. We cannot take away his right to choose his own destiny."_

And she was right, but it was no less frustrating. At the very least, Alexius agreed to help them. Seeing the destruction of Haven, the loss of so many, helped change his mind. Not to mention the Inquisition could keep both him and Felix safe, as the Venatori would likely retaliate for his perceived desertion in Redcliffe. And if they hadn't told Corypheus about it already, he would know soon enough. Maxwell didn't feel comfortable using guilt to press him into joining them, but Felix told his father in no uncertain terms that he wasn't leaving until Dorian was found. Alexius agreed. While Maxwell was grateful for their help, they were no closer to actually finding Dorian. And there was still the matter of the Breach in the sky over the Valley of Sacred Ashes.

"That has to be priority," he muttered.

He stopped pacing, the lute next to his desk catching his eye. It was one of the stranger things about Skyhold. They found beds and bookshelves, cooking pots and tables and chairs. All functional, practical things, while walls were crumbling. Amidst the rubble, this lute. Josephine had it delivered to his quarters, knowing what happened to his last one. It, like so many other things, was buried at Haven. He hadn't had time to scramble for any of his belongings, and arrived at Skyhold with only the clothes on his back. Since then, he'd received extra outfits, upgrades to his armor, the best set of rooms, and even his own bath. While he was used to a lavish lifestyle at his father's estate, this was not Ostwick. At any rate, he'd been in the process of learning to cast away material things for the Maker's love. He 'slummed' in the poorer parts of town, working in soup kitchens and helping those who could barely afford to live. Even when he was mugged one night returning to the chantry, he continued to do what he believed was the Maker's work. There was no greater gift than helping those less fortunate than himself. And yet here he was in a high tower with a soft bed and silken clothes.

Before he knew it, the lute was in his hand, and he'd settled on the couch, legs crossed underneath him. He strummed a few chords, tuning it carefully. It was an older instrument, but still in good condition. The catgut strings were likely druffalo, he thought. Or perhaps halla. He would have asked Solas, but they were still only on tentative speaking terms. It was something he needed to rectify. Dorian's disappearance was no more Solas's fault than anyone else's on the field that day. If he was going to blame anyone, it should be himself. He hummed softly, feeling at ease as the music matched his mood, quiet and almost melancholic, then began to sing.

_We stood in the moonlight and the river flowed  
And the Maker walked through the garden  
A mist came falling down to the ground  
I watched it all with no obligation _

_This is your sister, this is your brother  
This is your mother, not somebody's dream  
And all our lifetimes drifted through the trees  
To that place of moments where all was certain _

_Travelers on an olden road  
With all the baggage of our days and years  
We're life's carriers to the next unborn  
And I'll carry you  
'Til this great race is over_

"It's pretty."

Maxwell looked up quickly. Iron Bull was standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on the bannister, the other holding a wooden tray with food. Maxwell had been lost in thought and song. He grinned, blushing slightly. At first, his love of music embarrassed him. He hadn't enjoyed singing for anyone until his mother invited him to play for her salons. Then later, he sang the Chant during services, and would even entertain on occasion in a tavern or the market square in Ostwick. But people there knew him, and he always felt there was an air of obligation to his audience when he played. Despite that, he knew he was a good singer. Still, he tried to remain humble. His brothers making fun of him definitely helped.

"Thank you. Sorry, I didn't hear you come up."

"Would you have stopped playing?" Bull asked, gesturing at the couch.

Maxwell scooted over for him, placing the lute carefully on the floor. He accepted the tray as Bull settled down next to him. "Probably."

"Then it's a good thing you didn't hear me. I would've missed your singing. You should give up being Inquisitor and just play for coin." Bull removed the silver dome on the tray and set it aside.

"This looks delicious, thank you," Maxewell said, looking at the steak and vegetables on the plate. "You didn't have to do this." But he realized suddenly how hungry he was, and that he hadn't actually eaten since breakfast. Before he went to talk to Alexius. "Thank you," he said again, and carefully uncrossed his legs, and began to eat.

"You know, boss, you should take better care of yourself."

Maxwell swallowed. "Mm. I know. The Inquisition needs me."

"No, I mean…" Bull sighed. "You're not doing anyone any favors by being all noble." There was a pause, and Maxwell chuckled. Bull rolled his eye and grunted. "You know what I mean. Just because you're a noble-"

"I embody the word _too_ much?"

Bull shrugged a shoulder and sat back, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. "Not what I mean. You're doing that on purpose."

"I am. I'm sorry."

"See? That's what I mean. Bah. I guess it's good. Too many "nobles"," he said, his tone implying the quotes.

Maxwell sipped the strong cider, coughing a bit at the taste. "Alcoholic?"

"What, never got drunk before?" Bull asked in disbelief.

He shook his head. "Promised to the Chantry, remember? It's sweet. We had watered wine with dinner sometimes, but Mother never let me have more than half a cup."

Bull laughed. "That's… that's kinda precious."

Maxwell felt the heat rising in his face. "Well, it's not fighting in knee-high bloody water on the coast of Seheron."

"Hey, hey now," Bull said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "That's not what you're built for, right?"

Almost instinctively, Maxwell looked down at his left hand, then forced himself to concentrate on his plate instead. "Sometimes I'm not sure I know what I _am_ built for."

Bull shrugged again. "You're just… y'know. A decent guy. Nice and all. You don't like hitting stuff. You'd rather talk and sing. Hey, it's not my bag, but to each their own." He paused, crossing an ankle over his knee. "But you leave yourself open to too much. Too innocent."

"I'm not a child."

"I said 'innocent' not 'naïve'. There's a difference," he pointed out. "You're not stupid. You know what's at stake."

Maxwell considered this, and let his shoulders slump just slightly. Bull's hand landed warm between his shoulder blades. "Sometimes I just wonder about the Maker's plan. I have… trouble with it. With how He decides who lives and who dies. Why did all those people die while I'm still alive?" He glanced at Bull, then quickly hastened to add, "Rhetorical. I'm not expecting anyone to have those answers. Not really. I don't think all the questions will ever be answered. Not until I'm at His side."

Bull scoffed. "Yeah well, don't be in too much of a hurry to get there, all right?"

"No," Maxwell agreed. "Too much to do here first. Besides, I sort of like it."

"Only sort of?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure about the décor," Maxwell joked, looking at the Inquisition banner. "The creepy eye."

"Feels like it's watching you?"

"A little."

"Put on a show for it."

Maxwell laughed, blushing again. He felt Bull's hand slide down his spine, resting on the small of his back, and inched just slightly closer to him. It was comfortable, this. If someone had told him at the start that one of his closest confidants would be a Ben-Hassrath Qunari spy, he never would have believed them. And Bull was right. He wasn't naïve. He knew what the touches meant, and a part of him was excited and flattered. Yet another part of him was unsure. Bull talked freely and openly about his sexual adventures. Maxwell heard the serving girls giggling about Bull's… Well. Maxwell thought himself a gentleman, so he tried not to let his thoughts stray _there_. But he'd never personally been with anyone, not more than just a few rushed, stolen kisses. And there was so much else to consider first. And… Dorian.

"Just… give me some time," he said quietly, setting the tray aside. "It's been a very trying few weeks. Things are-"

"Hey, say no more," Bull said. "Whatever you want, yeah?"

Maxwell looked up at him. "What about what you want?"

Bull shrugged. "This?" he said, gesturing between the two of them. "It'll keep. Friends or more than friends. No pressure. Tell you what, though."

"Hm?" Maxwell released the breath he'd been holding, relieved that Bull was so easygoing with his hesitations.

"I wouldn't mind hearing you sing more. Y'know. If you want to."

Smiling, Maxwell reached for the lute.


	13. Chapter 13

Dorian was resilient and tenacious. Lucanus had to give him that. After several days in solitary confinement, he still refused to give anything about the Inquisition. But he would crack. Lucanus would see it happen. After the last defiance, he dragged Dorian down to the cells again. Despite his time in solitary, the bedroom in which he was staying was relatively comfortable. He would see that changed now. He'd chosen the room where Dorian woke the first time they brought him to the ruins. Coracavus, Servis informed him. Not that having the name made a damn bit of difference to Lucanus or his task, but Servis seemed rather proud of the discovery. He had to admit that he needed the man, though he would never tell Servis that.

Ten lashes and Dorian was still conscious. His wrists were bound in cold iron manacles that were inlaid with runes to dampen his magic, and drawn tightly by a chain that connected to the ceiling. The ancient Tevinters who used this fortress must have seen many prisoners. While some instruments of torture yielded to the wearing of time, rusted over, the chains themselves appeared warded against that. Truly convenient, Lucanus thought as he brought the whip across Dorian's back once more, a crackle of electricity zinging down the length of the leather. Dorian merely grunted, unable to scream anymore, and Lucanus stepped in front of him.

"Dorian. I'm trying to help you. Do you want to go back to solitary to think about what you've done?" He reversed his hold on the whip, a subtle breath of magic extinguishing the lightning, and used the butt to push Dorian's chin up.

When Dorian spoke, his voice was hoarse. He licked his lips and whispered, "No. I want… let me go, please."

"Will you talk about the Inquisition?" He was so close now, Lucanus knew it. Maybe another week or two and Dorian _would_ be his.

"They… are my friends."

"Are they? They haven't exactly been in a hurry to save you. You've been here so long. Alone. Without them. The only person who can even stand the sight of you right now is me. _I_ can be your friend, Dorian. I just need a bit of reciprocation from you. Does that sound good?" He replaced the butt of the whip with his fingertips, running his thumb slowly over Dorian's cracked bottom lip.

"Reciprocation?" Dorian asked, sounding confused through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

"Would you be willing?"

"I just want it to stop."

"Agree to it, and we'll make it stop. Deny me, and you've only got yourself to blame. Do you agree?"

Lucanus waited for him to make his decision, not pushing. Dorian's eyes glazed over and for a moment Lucanus thought he passed out. But Dorian blinked, then shivered. He tilted his head, and Lucanus let his hand drop as Dorian seemed to come to a decision.

"Yes," he whispered. "I agree."

Smirking, Lucanus removed the chains at once and caught Dorian easily before he could fall. His bare chest was slick with sweat, his back bloodied and bruised. Now came the aftercare, as Servis called it. Careful not to touch the wounds, Lucanus pulled Dorian's arm over his shoulder, and wrapped his own around Dorian's waist, walking him toward the door.

"We'll heal you up and then have a little chat. Does that sound good?"

"Hurts," Dorian hissed, and limped heavily.

Lucanus bit back a snide reply. "Just a little farther to your room."

Silvius was waiting for them, and Lucanus was torn between gratitude and irritation. The copper tub sat full of steaming hot water, and Lucanus carefully balanced Dorian on the edge. Silvius moved in to tend to his wounds and strip him fully while Lucanus inspected the small table in the corner of the room. A bowl of fruit, two books on Tevinter history, and a stack of towels and fresh clothing. He picked up a ripe apple and returned to the tub just as Silvius was lowering a wincing Dorian into it.

"Fetch a chair."

Silvius complied, then stood quietly for any other orders, a bundle of blood-soaked bandages in his hands. Dorian sat up in the tub, arms wrapped around his knees. His wounds were dressed though still healing, and he likely wouldn't be able to put pressure on his back for a while.

"Bring the poultices and fresh bandages," Lucanus ordered, sitting next to the tub. "And a hot meal. Perhaps a bottle of wine if Servis is willing to part with one."

Silvius bowed and left promptly.

"How are you feeling?" Lucanus asked gently, hating how soft his voice sounded. He wasn't a compassionate person by nature, and would sooner demand than request.

"Confused," Dorian admitted. He scooped water in his cupped hands and brought his face down, rinsing away dirt and tears.

"Confused why?" Lucanus handed him the apple. "Here. You'll need your strength."

Dorian took it, but didn't bite right away, frowning at the shiny surface. Lucanus let him have his silence for a minute. He looked like he had the world on his shoulders. And were Lucanus a different person, he might have felt bad. As it was, he was simply annoyed with the wait.

"Dorian?" he pressed. He reached out, two fingers under Dorian's chin and guided his face upward. "Confused why?"

Dorian's blue-grey eyes were cloudy and unfocused. He blinked, then took a small, careful bite of the apple and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. Then he answered. "Why are you being so pleasant?"

_Because I need this to bloody work so I can prove to the Elder One I deserve a place at his side._ Lucanus smiled, a tight-lipped and somewhat forced expression. "Don't you think you deserve that?"

Dorian frowned and took another bite before handing the apple back to him. Lucanus set it aside and crossed his legs, waiting.

"My friends aren't coming. Are they?"

"Dorian, you have one friend in all this." A simple lie. He wasn't Dorian's friend, but he was good at faking it.

"Where is Crassius?"

Lucanus bit his tongue hard to keep from saying something that might undo all his hard work. So much time spent with this man, alternating between issuing punishments and rewards, being so bloody careful, and Dorian had the nerve to ask for Servis. It was all he could do not to set him on fire or electrocute him in the tub where he sat. The worst thing of it all would be Servis's smug smirk when Lucanus came knocking on his door. Silvius returned with the requested items and set them aside before waiting for further instructions.

"Fetch your master," Lucanus ordered. He would simply have to remind Servis that he was still in charge, even if he did need him for this project.

Silvius left once more.

"I thought…" Dorian trailed off, covering his face with a sigh.

"Thought what?"

"That the Herald would come for me."

"He's not your friend, Dorian. Remember what he's trying to do. What the Inquisition is trying to do." Lucanus paused, gathering his patience. He had to constantly remind Dorian of the reasons the Venatori formed. While he wasn't sure of the Inquisition's end goals, pretending as if they were going to crush Tevinter was good enough. If nothing else, there was one thing he could count on for every citizen of the Imperium, and that was patriotism. "Do you want Tevinter to fall to the rest of Thedas? Can you imagine us bowing to the empress of Orlais? The king of Ferelden?"

Dorian shook his head. "No."

"We're weak now, but we can overcome it. But if we have to fight both the Qunari and the southerners, we'll fail. Do you want us to fail?"

"No, of course not," Dorian whispered.

"If you helped, you would be the hero of your country. Your father would be proud of you again."

Dorian looked up at him, and Lucanus almost felt pity for the despair he saw in his expression. Before Dorian could speak, the door opened again and Servis strode in as if he owned the place. Lucanus suppressed a sigh, waited until he thought it would be insulting enough to Servis, and finally stood.

"You called for me?" Servis asked. "I was rather busy."

_Doing paperwork while I handle the more important things,_ Lucanus thought, irritated. "Dorian wished to speak to you."

"Give us a minute, won't you then?"

Dorian cleared his throat before Lucanus could retort. "He can stay. It's… come to my attention that the Inquisition isn't looking for me. Perhaps they thought I left or that I wasn't worth the trouble."

"Likely true," Servis said coolly, arms crossed as he looked down at Dorian, sneering contemptibly at the wounds on his back.

"I wanted to ask you if you had spoken to our mutual friend."

Lucanus scowled. "Friend? What friend?"

Dorian flinched, and Servis waved a hand, warning Lucanus as subtly as he could to change his tone. "I have it on authority that he's defected from the Venatori and joined the Inquisition. Along with his son."

_Alexius._ Lucanus could have told Dorian that. He wondered if Dorian was really ready to spy for them. If he wouldn't turn on them, spilling every detail to Alexius and the Herald the first chance he got. Or maybe they would just lose him altogether, and Dorian would hide within the Inquisition's ranks. _We kidnapped him once. We can do it again. And next time I won't be lenient._

"I see," Dorian said. He sounded broken. "I don't want to disappoint. I don't want…"

Servis took several steps toward the tub and placed a careful hand on Dorian's head. "Do this for us, and we'll make sure you're safe, Dorian. But if you misstep, we cannot promise you anything. If you fail, the Inquisition will hang you or behead you for a traitor. But if you succeed? The Imperium will elevate you beyond the rank of Archon. You'll be the envy of your peers."

Dorian looked up at him, leaning into his touch as Servis cupped his cheek. "What if I can't do it?"

Servis scoffed. "Dorian Pavus. There is nothing you can't do. And you have myself and Lucanus behind you. You don't want to disappoint us, do you?"

"No," Dorian admitted. "I don't."

"So you'll return to the Inquisition. Tell them you were tortured. That you gave nothing up. Let them trust you again. Then, send us monthly reports. Troop movements. Important names and places. Encampments and so on. Understand? You'll be the most valuable agent we have. And when Tevinter covers Thedas once more?"

Dorian swallowed. "I wish for a better Tevinter."

"You'll succeed. The other option is death. Or worse."

Dorian nodded. "I will. I want to." He looked at Lucanus. "I want to," he repeated. "What do I do next?"

Lucanus couldn't help the smirk that spread slowly across his face.


	14. Chapter 14

Maxwell, high in the tower that housed his quarters, didn't hear the commotion down below. He woke with a start when his door banged open, and the sound of plate metal clanging filled the stairwell. He was pulling on a robe when Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Cullen, what's going on?" he asked, still trying to shake the sleep from his brain.

"They found Dorian," Cullen said in a rush. "He was halfway up the Frostbacks when Leliana's scouts saw him."

Flooding relief followed immediately by overwhelming concern halted Maxwell in his steps for just a moment. "Bring me to him. Is he all right?" He pulled on fur slippers and followed Cullen down the stairs. "Were you on patrol? What time is it?"

"I was with a group in the valley," Cullen said, leading the way. "We were doing a routine perimeter check. It's just after midnight now."

They gained the main hall, which was normally empty at this hour. However, Maxwell saw pockets of people standing, whispering. No doubt the alarm was raised when the scouts brought Dorian in. There had been some gossip for a while now, if Dorian defected from the Inquisition, if he'd been kidnapped, if he simply turned around and went home. The chilly wind bit through his silk robe, and he splashed through the mud in the courtyard, following Cullen to the makeshift medical wing behind the tavern.

"He's in a bad way, Inquisitor," Cullen warned. "I have assurances that he'll live, but-"

Maxwell shoved past Cullen. He'd seen his fair share of death in the last few weeks. Soldiers bleeding out and dying in his arms. He watched his own men cut down templars and mages and bandits. With demons it was easy. Men, not so much. But perhaps he should've heeded Cullen's warning, though. Nothing could prepare him for the sight before him. Lying on a cot, two healers working to stem the bleeding, Dorian was conscious but barely. He was naked save for a sheet over his waist to spare his dignity, and was largely unrecognizable for the blood covering his face. Two large gashes crossed on his chest, and his arm appeared broken. He was on his side, and Maxwell realized why, gasping audibly at the lashes on his back.

"Maker have mercy," he whispered, and forced himself to step forward. Careful not to get in the way of the healers, one of whom was a mage, blue light emanating from his palms, Maxwell edged around the cot and knelt down. "Dorian?"

"Herald," Dorian managed, with a weak smile. "Seems I'm late. Nice castle."

Heart breaking for the man before him, Maxwell gripped the pendant of Andraste around his neck, whispered a prayer to her to watch over Dorian, and kissed it. He reached up and carefully touched Dorian's hair, which was free of blood. One of the few places that was.

"I'm so sorry this happened, Dorian."

"Not your fault," Dorian managed, and gritted his teeth through the pain. He cried out when the healer set one of his broken bones.

Maxwell took his hand. "Grip it if you need to. It's all right. You're safe now." What had they done to him? It looked like he'd been tortured for weeks. How could they do this to him? How could anyone do this? War was one thing, battles happened and soldiers died for causes they believed in. But this… this was unspeakable.

"I'm glad you're here," Dorian said, trying for a smile. His teeth were bloody, a result of a blow to his face.

"Inquisitor." Cullen's polite intonation caused him to look up. "A quick debriefing."

Maxwell nodded. He gently kissed Dorian's knuckles and stroked his hair in a gesture of comfort. "I'll be right back. The healers will fix you, and you'll get some rest. When you wake up again we'll talk."

"I promise I won't disappear on you again, Herald."

"Maxwell," he insisted.

Dorian managed another small smile, and Maxwell followed Cullen out of the room and into the bitter evening. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, and looked up at the Commander expectantly.

"The full report is that he was found just a few miles off the Imperial Highway, up the mountain and on one of the newly uncovered trails," Cullen started. "We have scouts all around Skyhold and in the valley to alert us to enemy presence. He was…" Cullen frowned, as if he wasn't sure how to say the next part.

"Just tell me," Maxwell urged.

"He was naked. One of the scouts thought for sure he was dead with how much blood there was."

Maxwell swallowed hard. "Was he…" He took a breath. "Was he violated?"

Cullen shook his head. "The healer's report stated he remained… untouched. Broken bones, old wounds to his back and thighs. Whiplashes, some burns," he finished distastefully. "There was some frostbite to his extremities due to the cold. He'll make a full physical recovery though he'll need rest."

"Of course," Maxwell said. He ran a hand down his face and then through his hair, ruffling the dark blond strands. "Maker's breath, Cullen. Why?"

"Best I can figure is that they wanted information. But I expect Dorian will tell us more."

"Then it definitely was the Venatori." Maxwell felt sick to his stomach. Corypheus had the Venatori, the templars, and it seemed he might have the Grey Wardens as well. Reports from Leliana's scouts and Varric's friend Hawke weren't sure in that regard. Wardens disappearing, hearing voices. While there was no hard evidence, the chances of it being something unrelated to Corypheus were slim to none.

"It looks that way," Cullen said. "Are you all right, Inquisitor?"

"No," Maxwell said, then sighed. He looked at Cullen intently. "The Maker is testing us."

"Indeed he is. Too many times in my life, that's for sure. But Dorian will be all right."

"Yes, I know. I think-" Footsteps interrupted his thoughts and they looked over to see Bull crossing the yard. "Bull. It's Dorian," Maxwell breathed.

Bull, who was shirtless despite the cold evening, frowned in the moonlight. "Is that what's going on? Heard some commotion in the tavern. Cabot's usually closed up by now."

"Likely everyone's looking to gossip," Cullen groaned.

"Make sure Cabot waives the tabs," Maxwell said. "Courtesy of the Inquisition, drinks on the house."

Cullen nodded. "Anything else?"

"Nothing right now, Cullen. I'm sure we'll speak more in the morning. And you'll want to take a report from Dorian, I assume."

"When he's able," Cullen confirmed. He bowed slightly to Maxwell, nodded to Bull, and hurried to tell Cabot the news.

"So he's alive, huh?" Bull said. "Can't be good, though."

Maxwell shook his head. "Do you want to come in?" he asked, gesturing to the door. It was too cold outside for him, and his slippers were soaked through now.

"You need me?"

"I… I would like it if you stayed." Romance was the last thing on his mind, whether the careful flirtations with Dorian when they first met, or Bull's almost outright proposition. He wanted to make sure Dorian was all right first and foremost, and he didn't want to be alone. Cullen would have been a good choice to stay by his side, as Maxwell had great respect for the man. Cassandra was likely either still asleep or more likely she was talking with Leliana and the scouts that found Dorian, getting more details. Perhaps he could talk to her later, maybe pray together in the chapel if she didn't mind. But right now he needed comfort, and Bull was offering.

"Sure thing."

And Bull never asked why, or expected anything of him in return. Maxwell felt almost guilty for taking advantage of the friendship. He would have to make it up to him somehow. Feet icy cold and shivering still, he stepped back inside. Bull ducked and tilted his head, horns sideways to make it into the room without jarring the frame, and shut the door.

"He's sleeping now," one of the healers informed Maxwell. "We'll start cleaning him up and change the linens, then he'll just need rest."

Maxwell nodded and sat on the bench against the far wall. Bull settled next to him.

"They say anything about what happened?" Bull asked, curious.

He relayed what Cullen told him, then added, "I was asleep." And it was strange that he felt guilty for that. Perhaps he should've looked harder for Dorian. Sent more people out than the dozens he had already. If he'd just gone himself, or… But it was ridiculous to think that way. He wasn't a scout. He wasn't a fighter. He would've just been in the way. Staying awake all hours of the day wouldn't have achieved anything.

"You did everything you could," Bull assured him.

"I know." It didn't ease the guilty feelings.

The healers finished up and Maxwell watched them clean the blood from Dorian, looking away when the removed the sheet from his waist. If nothing else, he could grant Dorian that small modicum of privacy. Bull laid a hand on his knee, and Maxwell covered it with his own. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and then looked up to the healers. They finished up and moved Dorian to a clean cot. The first healer left, carrying the blood-stained sheets, and the second looked at Maxwell. The mage. An older man, balding, wearing thick heavy robes from the Ostwick Circle. Maxwell had been so distracted earlier, he hadn't noticed. He stood out of respect.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The healer nodded, wiping his hands on a cloth. "He'll need several days of rest to recover properly. I'm less concerned about his physical well-being and more about his mental state. We see soldiers who are healed up who can't sleep. Nightmares of what they've been through. Sudden loud noises that set them in a panic. It'll be difficult to know what he'll need right away."

"I understand. I'll be there for him," Maxwell promised. It was the least he could do. It was his fault Dorian was taken. Maybe he couldn't have stopped them from snatching him off the field, but if he'd been paying attention the battle instead of trying to close the rift… "Thank you again." He shook the healer's now-clean hand and watched him go.

"There's some spare rooms on the second floor," Bull suggested. "Pretty close to Alexius."

"Alexius!" Maxwell exclaimed. "He needs to be told." He nearly smacked himself in the forehead, realizing that he wasn't the only one who was upset by Dorian's disappearance. "I'll have to-"

"Just relax. He's sleeping now. Nothing anyone can do," Bull said, and stood. He gripped Maxwell's shoulder. "You want me to go wake him and his kid up? It's not like they can talk to him."

"Alexius is like a father to him. He deserves to be told," Maxwell insisted.

"You gonna be all right here alone?"

Maxwell nodded. "Just… be quick, please?"

Bull cupped him under the ear and smiled. "Sure thing, boss. Sit tight."

Maxwell watched him go, then moved to the cot next to Dorian's. A thick fur blanket was drawn up over him, and he shuddered in his sleep. The torch on the wall cast an orangey glow over him, and he looked peaceful lying there. Maxwell hesitated, then leaned over and brushed the back of his fingers along Dorian's jaw. Dorian's lips parted slightly, and he slept on.

"Maker," Maxwell whispered, clasping his hands together in his lap. He closed his eyes. "Please look after him. Let him heal from his wounds, both physical and emotional. Let me be there for him with whatever he needs to recover from this terrible ordeal. Let him forgive me." He mentally recited from the Canticles of Trials, touched the pendant at his neck, and waited for Alexius to arrive.


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm fine. I really do wish you would all stop fussing," Dorian insisted. He was sitting up in bed, a tray of half-finished breakfast in his lap. Alexius and Felix stood on one side, Maxwell on the other. Curiously, near the door, stood the Qunari spy. Dorian couldn't fathom why he was there, and his presence made him slightly nervous. Servis's words came back to him.

_"They'll pretend to be your friends. They'll lie to you. It'll sound good, but it's all lip service, remember that."_

He remembered Lucanus's hands on him, holding him, helping him to bathe and to eat when he was too weak to do so. Yes, they hurt him. But he'd deserved it. He was just one disappointment after another. But Lucanus was giving him a chance, wasn't he? And Dorian would rise gloriously to the occasion like he usually did. He would pull himself out of this slump he seemed to have fallen into after his disownment, and he would show his father how good he could be. Alexius being here was just another obstacle he could overcome. And Felix. His friend hadn't even looked for him, had he?

"I'm simply tired."

"All right," Maxwell said. "I think we should clear out for a bit. Let him have his rest." He took the tray from Dorian's lap and set it on the dresser.

Alexius leaned over to kiss Dorian's forehead, Felix following with a tight hug. They left, promising to be back in the afternoon. Dorian watched Maxwell and Bull exchange a look, and the latter left with a shrug, shutting the door behind him.

"You've gotten me alone at last," Dorian teased.

_"Act normally. Some nightmares are to be expected, being away from us," Lucanus said gently. "But if they think anything's amiss, your cover will be blown."_

Maxwell couldn't hide the faint blush that spread over his cheeks. His skin was too fair. He gestured to the bed and Dorian patted the mattress invitingly, the smile on his lips not betraying the disgust he felt.

_"They want to tear the Imperium down. Raze it, and dance on the ashes. We must stop them."_

Maxwell settled and took his hand. "I was so worried. I prayed every day."

_But you didn't_ look _for me, did you?_

"I'm surprised you didn't think I walked away," Dorian said carefully.

"No. Well. It crossed my mind. But then I thought you would have said something." Maxwell gently ran his thumb across the back of Dorian's hand. "Do you need someone to talk to about it?"

"I gave Commander Cullen my report just an hour before you arrived," Dorian said, fighting the urge to pull his hand away. How dare this man touch him? He wanted to ruin everything.

"Not what I meant." Maxwell sighed. "I mean about what they did to you."

"Ah." Dorian frowned. At least he didn't have to fake his discomfort there. What transpired between himself and Lucanus and Servis was private. He didn't wish to endure any more punishments. He wouldn't disappoint them. "I don't believe I'd like to discuss that. I'm sure you mean well. It's something I'd rather work out on my own."

Maxwell nodded, lips pursed into a mirthless smile. "I understand. I won't press. But if you need anyone to talk to-"

"Thank you. Truly." The silence stretched and became slightly awkward. Dorian squeezed his hand and then pulled away. "You have a castle now. And a title."

"It wasn't my choice. Cullen and Cassandra… I'm sure a few others were involved with the decision. There was a little ceremony and everything."

Dorian kept up his light, airy smile. _While I was being punished, you were celebrating. Good to know._ It hurt, and further reaffirmed the knowledge that the Inquisition was out for itself. "And the Breach? It's still there."

"We were going to take the mages down to the Valley and then Corypheus attacked. With one thing and another, we haven't had time to get there yet. I think Cullen's arranging it now, though. We'll probably set off tonight."

"As much as I would love to be there," Dorian lied through his teeth. He wasn't sure how to feel about the Elder One. Lucanus hadn't talked much about that. But Dorian wasn't doing this for some ancient Tevinter magister. He would help stop the Inquisition from destroying his homeland. Between the two evils, he would take 'restoring the Imperium to its former glory' over letting the Inquisition take over. At least the Elder One was of Tevinter. This boy was just a Free Marcher. He wasn't even a mage.

"You need your rest. I understand." He paused, gathering his thoughts a moment. "I just wanted to say how sorry I was again. I should have been watching the field."

"Don't blame yourself, Max."

Maxwell smiled. "You're the only one who calls me that, you know. My father insisted everyone use my full name. And everyone else here…" He gestured around. "It's either 'Inquisitor' or 'Lord Inquisitor' or… I feel almost like I lost my identity a little."

_Yes, do go on about your hardships while I was being tortured in a sandy pit._ "I can only imagine how difficult it is to be thrust into this. If you need someone to talk to," he said, repeating Maxwell's earlier words.

"I… yes. I'm sorry. Here I am talking about myself when you're recovering from an ordeal."

"No, please," Dorian assured him. "Though perhaps the world should have stopped on my account." He smiled, tasting the bitterness of his words, where in times past it might have been sarcastic arrogance. The world moved on without him. But he would make sure he came out on top. He would show the Inquisitor, Alexius, his father… everyone. And then Lucanus and Servis would praise him. "Tell me your troubles."

Maxwell let out a shaky, uncertain breath. "It's simply this Elder One. Corypheus. On one hand, he's said to be the first darkspawn. On the other, he's a Tevinter magister."

"Ah yes. The world will definitely latch on to that tidbit of information, no doubt."

"That's why we need men like you fighting with us," Maxwell said, and his hand found Dorian's again. "Good men like you."

Perhaps he might have considered something with Maxwell before he understood what the Inquisition was here to do. He wouldn't be so easily swayed now though. However, if the Inquisitor was attracted to him – and who wouldn't be? – Dorian would use it to his advantage. Very slowly he pulled on his hand, pleased when Maxwell slid closer.

"I'm not a good man, Inquisitor. I'm not even a particularly nice one."

Maxwell blushed faintly. "Oh?"

"And I think a part of you might not want to be nice either."

"I…"

"I'm teasing you, Max." Dorian knew he was good at this part. Seduction was easy. Getting the Inquisitor to his side in this fashion would secure the fastest way to obtaining the information he needed. "You've been thinking about it." He reached up with his free hand, brushing back Maxwell's hair, tucking it behind his ear. His fingertips lingered over his jaw and chin.

"Yes," Maxwell admitted. "I thought perhaps, our talking when we first met, that it meant… Well. You're a nobleman. You understand how tentative these things are."

"I do."

Maxwell slid even closer. "I thought I might have misinterpreted. My father would…"

"My father's the same," Dorian whispered, guiding his face down, one fingertip under his chin. "But they don't need to know this. Do they?"

"Maker, I…"

"Shh."

Dorian felt Maxwell's lips against his own, soft and sweet. He tasted of coffee and sugar on his tongue from whatever sweet roll he had for breakfast. His hair was soft between Dorian's fingers, and he held him in place. It had been a long time since Dorian kissed someone with so little experience. Maxwell was young, and while he appeared confident in every other aspect, this was not one he was particularly practiced in. He felt Maxwell's hand on his hip, and pulled him down, the angle slightly awkward as their chests pressed together. He renewed the kiss with vigor, becoming the aggressor he knew he needed to be.

"Mm, Dorian-" Maxwell pulled back, gasping when Dorian nipped his bottom lip. He was flush, his lips swollen and glistening, his eyes half-lidded. "I don't want to go too fast."

"Of course," Dorian purred. "Did you like it?"

"Yes, very much. Simply, I haven't… That's all I've ever done with anyone." The confession brought an embarrassed smile to his lips. "I've never even started anything that could remotely resemble a relationship. I devoted my life to the Chantry and the Maker."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "We're not inviting Him into bed with us."

"Oh! No, that's not what I-"

"I'm teasing again." Dorian took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "We'll move at your pace. But I wanted you to know that I enjoy being with you."

"I… I do too. With you." Another smile and light laughter. "Well. We'll see how it goes, then."

"Yes, we shall. Now, give me a bit more to rest and we can talk about what direction the Inquisition is headed. I'm sure you have lots of ideas to share."

"I do," Max said, a bit too eagerly. "If you don't mind. The Venatori are… Well. I'll come back and we can talk. Maybe you can give a bit of insight if you're feeling up to it?"

Dorian nodded. He was, after all, briefed by Servis on a particular location in the Western Approach. _"Give an inch so they think they're getting a mile and then they'll trust you,"_ Servis said. Dorian wouldn't fail him or Lucanus. "I think I should like to visit your big map room I've been hearing so much about. But for now, let me rest."

Maxwell nodded, hesitated, then leaned in again for a brief kiss. They said their goodbyes and Dorian watched him leave. He got gingerly to his feet, stretching his back and arms. The wounds Lucanus inflicted on him before he left Coracavus were necessary, and while the Inquisition's healers were adequate, he was still a bit sore. Tonight, he decided, he would gather as much information as he could, give them an inconsequential stronghold, and cement his place at the Inquisitor's side.

Then all he had to do was wait for Servis to contact him, and hand the Inquisition over to the Venatori on a silver platter.


	16. Chapter 16

"So he has returned."

Maxwell looked up. He'd taken a small corner of the tavern for himself, bringing his paperwork from his tower down so he could work and still be seen among his people. It was something they appreciated, or so he hoped. Besides, he'd had enough of quiet towers and vigils, and enjoyed the rowdiness of the tavern, though perhaps not Maryden the bard. Her songs were a bit bawdy for his tastes, and he thought maybe he should relieve her of her lute for an hour or so.

"He has," Maxwell confirmed, smiling at Cassandra, who approached his little alcove. "Did you want to sit?"

She held up a hand and shook her head slightly. "No. I have things to attend to. I was merely checking up on you."

Maxwell never had a sister, but he thought if he did, he would have wanted her to be like Cassandra. When she told him about Anthony, her brother, his heart broke for her. He wanted to be there for her. But no one could replace her brother. He knew that. Besides, he was so much younger, so much more inexperienced, it was easier to look up to her than to try to play the big brother role. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"And the Tevinter?"

"Dorian."

She made a low noise in her throat, crossing her arms. "Mother Giselle says he's one to be watched."

"He was tortured, Cassandra," Maxwell reminded her. "Because of us. Because of me. I owe it to him now to protect him."

"And how will you do that? With your brilliant sword skills?" She raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile flitting across her lips.

Maxwell glowered though there was no real vitriol behind it. He knew how bad he was with a sword, as did nearly everyone else. As Cullen would say, at least he knew which end to grip. "I've been practicing."

"Yes, I heard your shrieks the other day while you trained with Bull."

"I didn't shriek!"

"Like a girl."

"No one would ever accuse you of that," he grumbled.

She smiled. "You serve the Maker in other ways. But you still need to learn to deflect a blow."

He gestured at the papers laid out before him. "Josephine needs these by the afternoon. And we're returning the Valley of Sacred Ashes tonight. You… will come?"

"Of course. Someone has to look after you."

Maxwell chuckled. "Yes, of course. I'll be fine. I promise."

She nodded and left, heading back down the stairs. He'd just picked up his pen again when he heard Solas on the stairs, acknowledging Cassandra before finishing his ascent. Maxwell grimaced. He still hadn't made time to speak to Solas, to apologize to him for his outburst so long ago. If he was being honest with himself, he would have said he was avoiding Solas. _The Maker would want you to be humble and show humility._

"Solas-"

Solas stood, hands clasped behind his back. "Inquisitor. I have yet to congratulate you on your new title."

"Never mind that. I haven't apologized for the things I said. I… it was unworthy of me to ignore you all this time. You're an invaluable part of this Inquisition. I'm alive because of you. And I shouldn't have snapped. I apologize. I hope you'll find it-"

"Thank you."

Maxwell opened his mouth to say more, perhaps to apologize again, but he nodded. If Solas was going to let sleeping dogs lie, then so was he. "Did you need me?"

"I came looking to seek out your opinion on Cole."

"Cole?" Maxwell thought the name sounded familiar. He couldn't quite place it. Where did he know a Cole from?

"The boy from Haven."

It came rushing back to him like a breaking wave. _"The templars come to kill you"_ A blond boy, strange and different. But not a person. He could read Roderick's thoughts. But he wasn't a mage. "Where is he?"

"In the courtyard last I saw him. He is not a demon, Inquisitor. Not from what I can tell. He is possessing nothing and no one, yet he is for all intents and purposes, a spirit."

"That's… unusual, is it?" Maxwell asked. From what he knew of demons, they possessed mages who then became abominations who had to be killed. He saw demons before at the rifts. They looked twisted and monstrous. The first time he'd ever seen anything like it. While a rumor of an abomination might have floated around Ostwick, the templars there were vigilant and no civilian had ever been involved. It wasn't like it was in Kirkwall and the tales he heard out of that city.

"Indeed it is. Perhaps you'd like to speak to him for yourself."

"Do you think he's a danger?" Maxwell asked, capping his ink. He folded his papers into his books and stacked them neatly. He could finish later.

"No more than any of your friends are a danger to you. If I had to venture a guess, I would say he is a spirit of compassion. He stayed by the Chancellor's side until the end, comforting him into death."

Maxwell frowned. A spirit could be dangerous to have around. But he remembered what he was taught. They were all the Maker's children. Spirits were just the Maker's first, and they'd all but abandoned the mortals living outside the Fade. "Do you… believe the Maker sent him to us?"

Solas's lips quirked into a smile and he gestured toward the stairs. "I think you should talk to Cole yourself, and come to your own conclusions. However I do believe that it would be beneficial to your Inquisition that he be allowed to stay. Though that decision is yours to make."

"I understand." If Solas trusted Cole, then that was a big point in the boy's favor. Spirit. Whatever he was. "If I should trust anyone's judgment on spirits, it should be yours," Maxwell said, and was happy to see Solas looking pleased at the declaration. It seemed that he'd been forgiven after all. "I'll go now."

"Shall I accompany you tonight to the Valley of Sacred Ashes?"

"Yes, I'd like that. Cassandra is coming as well. And I think Iron Bull." Maxwell made a mental note to talk to him. Bull was a very good friend, and he was grateful to have him by his side. If nothing else, Bull made him feel physically safe. Not that he ever thought he needed a bodyguard. But he had told his father and his family that they were a full military operation, and he meant it. A little extra protection wouldn't go amiss, and Maxwell didn't think the Maker would object. After all, there was only so much the mark on his hand could actually do to keep him alive in a fight. And Bull deserved to know what was going on between himself and Dorian.

"Very good, Inquisitor. I will see you then."

Maxwell watched him leave, then sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The beginnings of a headache started to form just behind his eyes. There was so much to do and not enough hours in a day, it seemed. Closing rifts took a lot of out him. Closing the one at the Breach left him unconscious for three days. What would sealing the Breach do? He had every confidence that he would survive, but he would come back to mountains of paperwork and meetings and things that needed doing. He wondered how other heads of state managed. They, he reasoned, did not have to contend with rifts and demons at least.

Taking a breath, he followed the path Solas and Cassandra took, heading downstairs. Maryden, thankfully, was taking a break. He caught Bull's eye and waved, receiving a head nod in acknowledgment, and stepped out into the sunny yard. He was rarely without his fur-lined coat now, wondering when he would ever get used to the chilly mountain air. All of Ferelden was like this, and most of eastern Orlais. In Ostwick, they were lucky if it snowed even a handful of flakes during the winter months. _Thin blood,_ he thought.

He walked the yard a bit, nodding to those that greeted him, offering up encouraging smiles to the soldiers who passed. And then he saw him. A boy sitting on the edge of the ramparts high above the castle. He climbed the steps and approached slowly, not sure how to address him. Cole was almost childlike in his manner, kicking his heels against the wall, hands gripping the stone as he rocked slightly backward and forward.

"Cole?"

The kicking stopped. "There is a man you think about. Tall with yellow hair. Stern and stoic, he stares at you. You think you've disappointed him but he has a hard time telling you how proud he is. Words get lost on the way to the surface and he walks away, wondering why he can't."

"My father." Maxwell was curious. He always thought his father cared for him least between himself and his brothers. It was a confession he made to the Grand Cleric once when he was younger. The feeling faded, or so he thought it did. Lord Trevelyan simply wanted the best for his children, and for his children to do their best. While serving the Maker was a noble purpose, it wasn't the same as being a templar or running an estate. Not in his eyes.

"You sing songs so to make others feel better but the songs you sing for yourself are sad."

"The sad songs make me feel better."

"I don't understand."

Maxwell approached and leaned against the stone, arms crossed as he tried to explain. "The world is full of happiness and sadness. Light and dark. You can't have one without the other. The Maker gives and he takes away. It's a balance. Just as you help others, there are demons who hurt."

Cole blanched.

"I'm sorry. Did I offend? I've never… I never had the pleasure of talking to a spirit. Solas says you're here to help. How can you help?"

"I take the pain and make it better. I listen, learn, take the hurt and heal it."

"How?" Maxwell blinked, and Cole disappeared. He looked around quickly, spotted him in the surgeon's yard, and followed.

For ten minutes, Maxwell listened, not interrupting as Cole helped the soldiers and the healers alike. He pulled his coat tightly around himself, shivering as the wind played through his hair. Though the chill wasn't entirely due to the cold. Cole wasn't a mage, but he was something else. A child of the Maker. And as Cole said, he healed the hurt.

"Go ahead," Maxwell whispered, when Cole pulled the knife from his belt. Mercy, he knew, was one of the Maker's greatest gifts. And if Cole wasn't a spirit of compassion, perhaps he was one of mercy.

"Thank you for letting me help," Cole said, sheathing his knife. "It's not how a person would do it."

"I think it's just what we need here," Maxwell said. "Would you… may I ask a favor?"

Cole looked at him, head tilted slightly, like a puppy waiting for a command.

"There's a man. Dorian. He's resting now, but he's been through an ordeal. People hurt him. Would you talk to him?"

"I can. I will. I can stay?"

Maxwell smiled and held out his hand. Cole took it gingerly. "Yes. I would very much like that." Now all he had to do was convince his advisors it was a good idea as well.


	17. Chapter 17

Maxwell declined a horse as they set off down the mountain toward the Valley of Sacred Ashes. He also declined to lead the group, letting Cassandra and Solas walk ahead. The mages, led by Fiona, trailed behind. And in the middle, himself and Bull. He carried a torch, figuring if they were attacked by bandits on the road, being able to shed light would be more beneficial than flailing around with a sword and potentially getting himself killed. A quiet murmuring of conversation filled the silence around them. And the silence between himself and Bull? It was tense. Or so Maxwell felt.

"Look, boss-"

"Bull, can I-"

Maxwell laughed nervously. Bull gestured for him to go ahead.

"I thought I should let you know-"

"The Vint, huh?"

Guilt twisted in his gut. "I'm sorry."

"Nah. He's pretty. I get it."

Maxwell scoffed. "It's not… that's not the reason. I like you, Bull." A lot. More than he should. But he liked Dorian as well. _I'm so confused._

"Hey, I told you before. No hard feelings."

Bull was taking it well enough. _I didn't expect him to start crying or anything._ "I… thanks, Bull."

"Just be careful."

"Careful?"

Bull shrugged a little, gesturing a bit. "What do you really know about him?"

"I see your point. But we have people watching Alexius too, just in case. Felix and Dorian were both against what he was trying to do. He turned from the Venatori. I know they'll all be integral to the Inquisition." And he trusted Leliana and her spies to make sure they were all safe. Espionage went both ways, after all.

The explanation seemed satisfactory to Bull. "All right. You know I got your back though."

"I wouldn't want anything to change that. Especially personal decisions."

"Hey, if I was gonna cut loose, it wouldn't be because you decided you like the Vint better. I got to say though, boss, you're missing out."

Maxwell laughed, thankful at the teasing. "I'm sure. I never met a Qunari before you. I've only ever heard stories. Of course everything that happened in Kirkwall, you were all painted in a bad light. But I really like you."

"Well, shit, if you're going to get all syrupy on me-"

"I am not!" He paused thoughtfully. "I could compose a song for you though."

"Yeah, don't."

"You like my voice," Maxwell insisted. He glanced up at Bull through the torchlight.

"Sing me something that's not about me."

Maxwell thought a moment, trying to decide on a song that would be appropriate. He cleared his throat and started to sing.

_Crossing battles savage seas towards the mountains high  
Forest plains of wilderness we're striking out tonight  
On towards our destiny we travel far and wide  
Journey through the darkness as your hearts refuse to die_

_We will ride with fire burning hot towards the night sky  
In the land of long ago forever in our souls  
Fly on wings of shining steel are burning so bright  
In ancient lands of warriors we're riding on again_

_Riding through the starlight and smashing the boundaries as hellfire falls from the sky  
A shadow of pain will arise from the ashes of those fallen ones who have died  
Our only master with fire and fury of hell will see his bidding done  
Blasting from high as the battle unfolds to the gates of the city we come_

He hummed a few more lines, and felt a blush in his cheeks when the mages behind him clapped. Cassandra, leading the group on her horse, turned in the saddle to look at him. Through the dim light of the torches and the moon above, he saw the approving look, and felt proud of himself. Bull clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Think that was a good one."

Max chuckled. "I was hoping it wasn't too inappropriate."

"Battling against evil bastards and all that? It works. Your mages thought so too. You ready for this?" Bull asked as they approached the remains of the temple.

Maxwell took a breath. "I have to be." He felt his pendant against his skin, and knew the Maker was with him. Keeping his faith close, he stepped into the ruins.

-

Dorian found the library easily enough. Everyone was giving him a wide berth, and he found himself alone. Whether they avoided him because of his nationality or because they felt sorry for him for what happened, he didn't know. Nor did he much care. He was simply restless. After so much time in his cell and then his room, he wanted to be in a place that didn't make him feel so claustrophobic. So many people had gone with Maxwell to seal the Breach, and due to the lateness of the hour, many more were asleep or on their patrols. Dorian scanned the shelves, holding a handful of blue flame. Not that he expected to find anything interesting, just a distraction while he waited for the Inquisitor to return.

"You're going to hurt him."

The book clattered to the floor, Dorian jumping in surprise. He turned on his heel, ready to cast a spell to defend himself when he realized the person who crept up on him wasn't actually a person. The spirit or demon or whatever it was radiated an odd magical aura. It took Dorian a moment to realize what he'd said.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I know who you are."

"I'm Cole. I'm a friend."

"Friends don't normally go sneaking up on one another in dark corners." Dorian bent to pick up the book, barely taking his eyes off the boy. "Are you another mage? Demon?"

Cole frowned under his large hat. "I want to help."

"That clears that right up, then," Dorian sighed. "What did you say before? That I would hurt him. You don't know that."

"I see what they did to you." Cole watched him move out of the alcove. "The men with the masks. They twisted the feelings inside you, made them less like you and more like them."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, wholly uninterested in what this spirit or demon had to say about Lucanus and Servis. They were at least truthful to him, even if they had to hurt him. The rest of the Inquisition was all lies. And now Alexius was part of it too. "Are you spirit, then?"

"Solas thinks that's what I am." Cole took a careful step forward. "The Herald, he let me stay. He asked me to help you. I know how."

A wry snort escaped before Dorian could hold himself in check. "A spirit." He closed his fist around the ball of light in his palm, extinguishing it. "You can read my mind?"

"The feelings, tangled and twisted, turning inside you. You want to believe them, the men with the masks, but you're afraid of being alone. The Herald, he'll help you. He likes you."

"I was counting on that part," Dorian muttered. He watched Cole shift his weight from foot to foot, and contemplated this. If Cole could read his mind, then he knew what he was planning. The Inquisitor would be back in relatively short time, and it was entirely possible this spirit would ruin his plans. "You want to help me."

"I do," Cole said, a bit eagerly.

"Follow me."

He kept his thoughts in check, focusing on Servis and Lucanus and what they taught him. Not that Dorian didn't already know how to play a part. He'd been doing it for years at all of his father's parties. Dance with the available young women, then find their brothers and head off for a tryst in a dark corner somewhere. Never let anyone know you ever wanted more. Visit their beds and be gone come morning. Put your feelings in a locked box, high on a shelf somewhere out of reach. The seduction and downfall of the Inquisitor was practically in hand already. He led Cole back to his room and lit the candles with a few snaps of his fingers.

"We should be sitting down for this. On the bed, maybe?" Dorian suggested.

Cole disappeared and reappeared in the blink of an eye, sitting cross-legged on the bed, barefoot now. Dorian glanced around the room, eyes falling on the dinner tray that had been brought to him earlier. He took the plate and the knife, and sat across from Cole, who watched with interest.

"How does this help?" Cole asked, curious.

"I'm going to channel some magic so you can see more of me. We'll be linked. Would you like that?"

"I… suppose," Cole said.

Dorian felt anxiety fluttering in his stomach. He'd never done this particular ritual before, but he'd seen it many times. You didn't grow up in Tevinter among the elite of elites without experiencing it at least once. His father would be disappointed, he thought. Or perhaps proud, considering what Halward was planning for him before he left. Dorian cleaned the knife, and a whisper of magic cause the blade to glow with white-hot fire. He pressed it against his open palm and sliced, wincing at the pain. Clenching his fist, he let the blood pool onto the plate, and muttered the words for the spell, a chant in ancient Tevene.

"Wait-" Cole started, his form starting to flicker a little. "I don't think this is a good idea. I don't like this."

Dorian felt the magic in his palm, the energy radiating from the blood. Instantly he knew why this type of magic was dangerous and in most places, forbidden. The edges of the Fade were brighter, sharper. He could feel it and see it in his mind's eye. Demons clamoring for his mind and body. He pushed it away, down and away. The only spirit he was hoping to ensnare was here, close. Cole started to shake, whether it was from fear or a result of the magic, Dorian didn't know. Could spirits even feel fear?

"Give me your hand, Cole."

"I don't want to," Cole said, his voice small and timid.

"I order you, spirit, to give me your hand."

Pale and trembling, Cole presented his hand, palm up. Dorian drew a rune on it in blood and spoke the last words of the spell. The blood flashed brightly, then sank into Cole's palm. The whispers in Dorian's mind stopped instantly, the clamoring of demons wanting his attention, offering him his greatest desires and deepest wishes. His thoughts were clear.

"Bound to me now," Dorian said, letting out a harried breath. He took the plate back to the dinner tray, wiped it off with the napkin, and then wrapped the linen around his palm to stem the bleeding. "You won't tell the Inquisitor anything that happened between us. Instead, you'll assuage any fears he has about trusting me. You'll assure him that I am in fact, willing to play nice with his Inquisition. If he asks about how you're helping me, you can make up a pretty lie, or simply tell him that I declined your help."

Cole, still sitting cross-legged on the bed, balled his hands into fists, pressing them against his knees. He didn't say anything.

"Cole. Tell me you understand me."

"I… understand," Cole ground out, voice wavering.

"You're not to do anything strictly against your nature. Nothing that would compromise our little secret. Continue on as normal within the parameters of my orders. Tell me you understand."

"I understand," Cole whispered.

"Good boy. Now run along. I'm sure we'll be seeing one another on the regular."

Cole disappeared at once, and Dorian felt the knot of anxiety in his stomach loosen. Such a simple spell. It was no wonder the mages back home used it all the time. And if the Inquisitor asked him what happened to his hand, he could blame it on clumsiness. Perhaps he would even win some sympathy. Lucanus, he thought, would approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell's song is, "Soldiers of the Wasteland" by DragonForce (an amazing band and a really, really good song - you should check them out!)


	18. Chapter 18

"Are you sure you should be up and walking around?" Dorian asked, injecting concern into his tone.

"I'm not tired," Maxwell assured him. "I thought I would be after closing the Breach, but I feel energized."

They were walking the battlements of Skyhold. Aside from the occasional soldier on patrol, they were alone. Maxwell returned quarter of an hour before, and most of those at the Breach either went to the tavern to celebrate or to bed. It was close to midnight now, the moon impossibly large in the sky. Maxwell stopped by his room, and they decided to go for a walk together. With Dorian still more or less in recovery, the ramparts were as far as Maxwell was willing to go for now.

"And you spoke with Cole?" Maxwell asked. "What happened to your hand?"

"Just a slip of the knife during dinner. I'll have the healers look at it tomorrow. Cole's a spirit?" Dorian asked innocently.

"Solas trusts him. So do I."

"No need to get defensive," Dorian said lightly. "Solas tends to enjoy all sorts of spirits. He's drifted through the Fade, talking with many and while I respect that magic, it's not mine. Spirits can still possess mages, after all."

"Don't you have to allow them into you?" Maxwell was curious.

Dorian tried not to rankle at the tone. Of course a noble from the Free Marches, a country that condoned locking up mages, would know nothing of magic. Was he just a spectacle for him? Something to be gawked at? Or a source of information? Did Maxwell expect him to just explain the intricacies of how all spells worked? He recalled Lucanus heating his bathwater for him. A simple incantation that any mage back home would use without thought. Mages here would be terrified to do something like that.

"Not always. Spirits and demons feed on our emotions. It's entirely possible you can let one in accidentally. But I'm sure Cole is harmless, as Solas says." The seed of doubt was easy to plant in one so young and naïve.

Maxwell frowned and stopped, leaning against the stone wall of one of the many towers. "If you're not comfortable with Cole, I'll ask him to stay away."

"Perhaps for now that would be best," Dorian agreed. "At least until we're sure he's truly what he seems."

"Of course. I don't want to make this more difficult for you."

Dorian stepped into Maxwell's personal space, watching his eyes widen. He planted his uninjured hand against the stone next to his head and leaned in. "You should have someone looking out for you, Max."

Maxwell blushed nervously. "I do. I have Iron Bull and Cassandra and Cullen." He took a breath as Dorian leaned closer. "And you."

"You definitely have me," Dorian said quietly. "Has anyone ever told you how alluring you can be when you blush?" He brushed the backs of his fingers along Max's cheek. "No?"

"No," Max whispered.

"I never thought I'd meet someone quite like you here."

"What?"

Dorian bypassed his lips as he leaned in closer, nuzzling his cheek and jaw. "Selfless and kind. The world on your shoulders and you still look out for people like me."

Maxwell tilted his head, letting Dorian draw his lips over his neck, to his earlobe. "The world would be better if we just looked out for one another."

"Wouldn't it?" Dorian nipped sharply at his neck, then kissed the bruised spot before sucking lightly. He smirked when Maxwell gasped, and felt his hands against his chest. "You're an idealist."

"Just have a lot of faith. In people. In the Maker," Maxwell breathed.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"N-no."

"You're stammering. It's adorable." Dorian stepped close, hips flush against Maxwell's. He couldn't feel much through the Inquisitor's rich coat, or his own, but the gasp from Maxwell's lips made him smile predatorily. "As much as I'd like to stand here and ravish you," he muttered, trailing kisses up his jaw, "we should really go to the war room so I can show you what I've learned."

"Yes, of course," Maxwell said in a rush. He was still flushed when Dorian pulled back and reached for his hand. "You don't mind this?"

"This?" Dorian asked, lifting their entwined hands. "Why shouldn't people talk?"

"I thought maybe discretion…"

"This isn't Ostwick, Inquisitor. This is your castle."

"I suppose it is."

"No one will begrudge you a little happiness. Will they?" Dorian tugged on his hand and pulled him off the battlements, toward the throne room. He had some time to explore Skyhold earlier, to get the lay of it. More information for Lucanus and Servis.

"No, I don't think so. I… talked to Iron Bull."

Dorian was glad for the darkness despite the light of the moon. It was easier to hide any expressions that dared to slip. "Oh?"

"He showed some interest in me. I wasn't sure."

_Someone to watch._ Dorian contemplated this. The Qunari was a Ben-Hassrath spy. He knew that much. Everyone on the Inquisition's payroll was a bit of an open book, except for Leliana. The only thing he was aware of when it came to her was her former position of Left Hand of the Divine. If he was going to meet Lucanus or take messages from Servis, he would need to be careful of her and her scouts.

"Well, obviously he has impeccable taste, even for a Qunari."

"I'd never met one before him. He's certainly different."

Dorian snorted. "As long as he's different from the ones trying to ravage my homeland."

"That was insensitive of me," Maxwell acknowledged. "I'm sorry."

_Typical southerner._ Dorian squeezed his hand. "It's all right. I can't be upset. After all, you chose wisely."

"I think I did."

They gained the throne room and Maxwell pulled him into the antechamber that served as Josephine's office. The fireplace was cold now, everything stored away and stacked neatly. Dorian noted how easy it would be to access her notes, and wondered idly if Cullen's office was as accessible. Troop movements were just as important as dealings with the nobility. If the Venatori could sway the houses that weren't tipping in the Inquisition's favor, then they would have them. Orlais would be more difficult, but Nevarra and the Free Marches might be amenable.

"You all right?" Maxwell asked, fishing a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the door to the war room.

"Hm. Just thinking about how to help."

"Even if you just stayed by my side. Made sure I didn't stab myself with a sword or something," Maxwell laughed. He pushed the door open and stepped in. "No torches."

"No need," Dorian said, summoning two spirit wisps with a flick of his hand. They hovered where he instructed them, over the table in the middle of the room.

"That's…"

"Not used to magic. I forgot. It's as simple as breathing where I come from."

"Solas talks about it much the same way," Maxwell said, approaching the table. "I've seen him cast, but usually just in fights. I'm normally trying to defend myself and get the rifts closed. Demons don't negotiate."

"Actually I find that's the one thing they do very well," Dorian contradicted. "But I do see your point." He peered at the map, making sure to press his thigh against Maxwell's, to keep his mind on the heat of his body, on sex. His eyes flicked over the map, noting strongholds and troop movements. Then he leaned across Maxwell, arm brushing against his chest. "There."

"Griffon Wing Keep?" Maxwell asked.

"I heard them talking about taking it. They made it seem as if it was pivotal in whatever they were planning."

"That's… practically in the middle of nowhere," Maxwell said, but he moved an enemy marker on top of it.

Dorian turned around and lifted himself to sit on the table, careful not to knock any pieces. "Maybe, yes. But they were looking for something. Artifacts, I think. Digging in the desert."

Maxwell nodded. "Leliana's people confirmed he's been searching for something. We don't know what, though."

"Then it is important that you get whatever it is before he does," Dorian said. He reached up and gripped Maxwell's collar, pulling him close, and then hooked his legs around his thighs. "Will you go out there personally?"

"I might," he said, hands on Dorian's chest.

Dorian let one of the wisps wink out, then the other, and he could just barely see Maxwell through the darkness. "Romantic."

"The war room's romantic?" Maxwell chuckled. But he slid his hands upward, forearms resting on his chest now.

"With you, anything could be romantic. Even a deserted wasteland."

"Are you implying you'd like to go with me?"

"If you do," Dorian said, unbuttoning Maxwell's coat. Underneath he wore a silken grey shirt, and he started to slowly unbutton that as well.

"It's Orlais."

"And not even the good part," Dorian teased. _Maker, this is too easy._ His hand slid inside Maxwell's shirt, fingers finding a nipple, and he pinched.

Maxwell gasped, hips bucking forward. "Dorian! I… this is fast."

"We're being positively chaste by my standards. But if you want me to stop…" He brushed his thumb against the same nipple, and again, enjoying the little puffs of breath escaping from Maxwell's lips.

"Maybe just… a little more kissing," Max acquiesced.

"Anything you want."

Dorian allowed him to take the lead, kissing him sweetly. His body reacted to the physicality of it, of course, but his mind wandered. A part of him actually wished he was back in his room with Lucanus. Not that he wanted kiss him, but he missed the reassuring touch, the soft voice that told him it would be all right. It was nerve-wracking to be on his own again. But at least this time he had something to return to. He smiled into the kiss when Maxwell's fingers worked into his hair. The boy was getting good at this, and it was obvious he enjoyed it. Dorian slipped his own hands back into Maxwell's shirt, thumbs brushing hard against both nipples now. Maxwell moaned needily into his mouth, and he moved faster until Maxwell broke off, panting.

"Dorian."

"How do you feel?"

"Good. Really…"

Dorian ducked his head and latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. Maxwell shouted in surprise, hand twisting in Dorian's hair. He winced at the pain. _Better not rip any out,_ Dorian thought, tongue flicking over the erect nub. Maxwell's chest had a very light dusting of hair, and his physique was not overly muscular. He truly was a diplomat. Dorian worked hard to keep his muscles, and demanded his partners looked good. Not as good as he did, of course, but enough that he could justify being with them. Maxwell, at least, was attractive.

He moved to the other nipple to tease, keeping one hand up to pinch and twist the one he'd just tortured. His free hand slid back and down, nails gently scratching over the small of his back to the swell of his ass. Maxwell was whimpering now, and Dorian felt his erection against his thigh, pressing forward, looking for that friction that would allow him to orgasm. A virgin partner was something Dorian missed from the time he himself was untouched. He'd forgotten how easy it was to excite them. The barest flick of a spell, a controlled flame to split his leather belt, and there was enough leeway between Maxwell's waistband and skin, and Dorian's hand slid inside.

"Oh!" Maxwell moaned when Dorian's fingers gripped his ass, skin against skin. "Dorian, I… Oh Maker."

"Use me, Max," Dorian whispered. "If you need to come. If you want to."

There was a frenzy of movement as Maxwell thrust against him, hips grinding furiously like a dog in heat. It would be amusing to Dorian if it wasn't so sad. He squeezed Maxwell's ass again, parting his cheeks just enough to slip a dry finger into his cleft, rubbing against his hole. Maxwell's eyes opened wide in surprise, he was breathing hard, and Dorian knew how close he was. He dropped the hand teasing a nipple and, throwing caution to the wind, cupped Maxwell through the silken trousers. Maxwell let out a strangled, surprised cry, thrust twice, and came in his pants.

Dorian felt it, slightly damp against his hand. He released him slowly, and anticipated the kiss that followed. Maxwell clung to his coat desperately, seeking approval, seeking that need for closeness that Dorian had long learned to give up. Trysts were quick fucks in dark corners or mutual blowjobs lying together on a mattress. Then you dressed and left. But Maxwell wanted more than this. And since Dorian pushed, he would also need to be there for the aftermath.

_I wonder if he's going to need to pray now,_ Dorian thought unkindly.

"All right, Max?" he asked, once the kiss ended.

Max caught his breath, nodded. "I've never done that before."

Dorian chose not to tease him. It would probably make him even more nervous. "Did you like it?"

"Of course I did. It was… Maker, we… I wanted to go slowly."

"But?" Dorian prompted. "Don't tell me you regret it. You were begging for it."

Maxwell laughed nervously and looked away. "No. I don't regret it." He took a breath and exhaled slowly. "I need to clean up. Did you… ah. Damn. I'm sorry."

Dorian crooked a finger under his chin and kissed him chastely. "Don't worry about me. This was for you. Next time we'll have a bed. Things will be less rushed."

Maxwell nodded a bit dumbly, and kissed him. "I want to know you, Dorian. Everything about you. Everything that makes you the way you are and I want… I want this to work between us. Something special."

Dorian took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I'm not good at relationships, my dear. However, this will be what you want it to be."

"All right. If you're sure."

"We'll have dinner tomorrow night."

"Yes, I'd like that. Come to my quarters."

Dorian kissed his cheek, then fixed his shirt and coat. "No hope for that belt, I'm afraid."

"I didn't like the color anyway," Maxwell assured him. "Eight o'clock."

"I've got nowhere else to be."

"Should I walk you to your quarters?" Maxwell asked.

Dorian waved him on. "Yours are closer. I think I'll stop by the tavern possibly for a drink to help me sleep."

"I could ask Fiona to make a potion."

_Yes, because I would trust a southern mage with that._ "You're very sweet, but no. Alcohol is what I need."

Maxwell looked concerned for a moment, then nodded. "If you need to talk to anyone about what happened-"

"I'd rather just forget." Dorian's tone was slightly snappish. "Apologies."

"No, no, it's my fault," Maxwell hastened to assure him. He took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I just don't want to see you hurting."

_That's why you want to tear down my homeland, is it?_ "I promise you if I need to talk, I will find someone. Go on now. Get cleaned up and have pleasant dreams."

Maxwell smiled, kissed his cheek, and walked out, slightly awkward in his damp and sticky smalls. Dorian felt his own fake smile slip from his face, hopped off the war table, and looked down at it one last time. Mental picture in mind, he left the room for his own to hastily sketch what he remembered, and hoped he would be able to get the information to Servis and Lucanus soon.


	19. Chapter 19

"Macrinus is dead."

Servis looked up from his desk. The paperwork lessened, and several crates were shipped off to Tevinter with no one the wiser. He had assurances that his bank accounts in Minrathous and Antiva City would see the other half of the promised deposits within the next few weeks, and things were going very swimmingly indeed. He glanced at Silvius, sitting in the corner of the room, and addressed him.

"Send a letter to Octavia Macrinus along with flowers and a thousand royals. Our most grievous apologies that her husband fell bravely in battle defending traditional Tevinter values. Make sure you word it so she'll talk to all her friends about what a great hero he was."

Lucanus snorted. "A thousand royals?"

"Too cheap?" Servis asked, knowing full well that wasn't the reason Lucanus was sneering now. "Better make it three thousand," he added to Silvius. "Half of which is to be taken from Lucanus's coffers. Off you go."

Silvius bowed and left, and Lucanus sputtered angrily.

"Spare me," Servis said, waving a hand. "So Dorian came through for us."

"As if there was any doubt," Lucanus sniffed. "He left a message with a runner who managed to get away before the Inquisition could overrun the place." He reached into his robes and pulled out rolled, slightly wrinkled sheaves of parchment from his pocket.

Servis leaned forward to take it, and flicked it open. "Details of the Inquisition's army placements, troop movements, and a list of noble houses that are still on the fence." He turned to the next page, unable to keep the impressed expression from his face. "As well as a list of steadfast nobles and… blueprints of their new holdfast in the Frostbacks." He let his arm drop, looking up at Lucanus, brow furrowed.

"What?" Lucanus asked, prepared for criticism.

"Do you think that sometimes it's simply too easy being us?"

Lucanus laughed. "It is rather too good to be true. But I'll need to report this to the Elder One."

"He will be pleased," Servis muttered, flicking through the papers once more. "He writes that Alexius is there." He frowned. "And working openly with the Inquisition. Fool!"

"He's chosen badly," Lucanus said, shrugging.

"I have dibs on his estate," Servis declared, taking up his pen to make a note to have his people in Minrathous look into that. A few forged and falsified documents would ensure that if Alexius went missing, he, Servis, would be his rightful next of kin. "Who is Stroud?"

"Dorian mentions him in his report," Lucanus said, stepping forward. He tapped one of the papers, and Servis picked it up.

"A Grey Warden." His eyes narrowed. "This is supposed to be Livius's responsibility. Why is there a report of a rogue Grey Warden on my desk?"

Lucanus spread his hands, looking slightly worried. "Dorian states that he was working with a man called Hawke who knew him from a dwarf-"

"Varric Tethras," Servis ground out. He opened a desk drawer, shifted through a few trinkets and papers and pulled out _The Tale of the Champion._ "Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. He was there when that southern mage leveled one of their chantries. Good riddance, I say," he sighed, flipping through a few pages he'd bookmarked. "He might be a problem. Who do we have in Ferelden who can handle this issue?"

Lucanus blinked. "I…"

"Stop being useless, Chiron."

"I don't have reports on Ferelden!"

"Very well." Servis was disappointed. It seemed Lucanus's ambitions ran only so deep. He penned a quick letter. "Make sure this makes it to Captain Denam."

"Denam?" Lucanus asked, taking the note and unfolding it to read.

"He's in Ferelden. Part of the templars that left Val Royeaux with the Lord Seeker." The less Servis thought about the Red Templars though, the better. Grey Wardens being bound to demons, templars being fed red lyrium. He was quite glad he fell into neither category. If Corypheus started experimenting on his Venatori, he would cut his losses and fade quietly to Rivain to avoid the conflict. After all, cowardice was perfectly acceptable if the alternative was losing your mind or being turned into a giant crystal behemoth thing. "Therinfal Redoubt. If you can't locate him, send the missive directly to General Samson." He met the man once in passing, and it was easy to tell why Corypheus had chosen him for that role. His mind was sharp, despite - or perhaps because of - the lyrium poisoning.

"Orders to track and kill Stroud. Like it will be that easy? I'm sure the Grey Wardens are looking for him."

"Yes," Servis said, flipping through the pages of the book for any clues he might have missed. "They didn't have his exact location. Dorian notates it. Useful little spy."

"Very well."

"Anything else?" Lucanus shifted, and Servis looked up. "Chiron?"

"No."

"You're not a very good liar." Servis rolled up the sheaves of parchment and offered it back to him. "I have reports from Denam somewhere here if you'd like to read them. Last I heard he was of sound mind, so make sure you move swiftly."

"How did you get those?"

_Wouldn't you like to know?_ Servis smirked. "I have contacts throughout Thedas. You should work on that yourself."

"Are you keeping this information from the Elder One?" Lucanus demanded.

Servis laughed. "I am reading his own reports, you simple idiot." He enjoyed the anger the insult provoked. "These are merely copies from his trusted advisors. Denerim is set to fall swiftly once we've taken Val Royeaux. What are you hiding from me?" The quick topic change threw Lucanus, and Servis was happy to see him scrambling for a lie.

"It's mine."

"That remains to be seen. You disappeared for a fortnight and returned stinking of the desert. What have you found?"

"A staff."

Servis remained quiet. An effective tool he'd used successfully before on Lucanus. He kept his gaze leveled on the younger man, and waited.

"It is called Tempest. Uniquely carved. Our scholars believe it's of Avvar origin."

"Where did you find it?"

"Ruins to the southeast," Lucanus said warily. He seemed to think Servis would demand the staff from him, and stood a little straighter.

Servis didn't argue. "Coordinates?"

"Why? There's nothing left there but dust and corpses. And quite a few dead demons," he added in a tone so proud, Servis knew he had a hand in taking them down himself.

"Curiosity."

"You know what they say about that," Lucanus warned.

"Quite. But I," Servis said, scratching some notes down, "am not a cat. If you're done with the ruins, I want them cased by my own people to ensure nothing valuable to the Elder One was left behind." _And nothing that I could potentially sell._ If the dwarves weren't interested, he knew of several fences in Antiva City that would leap at ancient Tevinter relics. There was always a market for anything. It was just a matter of finding the right person who would buy.

Lucanus shifted, obviously uncomfortable at the idea of doing anything to potentially help out Servis, and wondering if he'd left anything valuable behind in the ruins besides an old staff. He sighed. "Very well. I'll have my lieutenant talk to yours."

Servis lifted his pen in a gesture of acknowledgment and even gratitude. "Now. How is Livius getting on? He'll want to know about Stroud, I'm sure."

"How should I know?"

Servis sighed and set his pen down. He folded his hands atop his desk and leaned forward. "Why must you insist on contradicting me right after I decide that you're useful after all?"

The glare to follow was glorious. "I am not Erimond's keeper."

"Very well," Servis said, shuffling his papers.

"...That's it?"

"You don't have the information I need from you, therefore I've nothing left. Unless you had something?" Servis asked, looking up.

They stared at one another a moment until Lucanus blinked, scowling still. "I'll send word to Adamant inquiring. And inform him that we'll take care of his wayward Grey Warden."

"Preferably before he informs Hawke and the Inquisition, thank you."

With a noise of disgust, Lucanus turned on his heel and left the office. Servis smirked. _How well I've trained you indeed._ He would let Lucanus have the victory of information. To send Corypheus the blueprints of the Inquisition stronghold along with the rest, no doubt it would propel the young mage into the thick of things. Servis allowed himself a fleeting moment of jealousy before it fizzled out and died. It would be an easy matter to claim the Pavus boy's loyalty as a result of his own training, and make sure the evidence received bore his name instead of Lucanus's. But it simply wasn't what he wanted. He was sure Corypheus would be happy with the information. All except Alexius's defection. Well, he never thought the man was cut out for this type of operation anyway.

Silvius returned, slipping into the room silently, and waited until Servis completed his train of thought before speaking. "Will you have need of me tonight?"

Servis waved a hand distractedly. "With any luck we'll be out of these ruins soon and in proper lodgings. Orlesian lodgings, but nevertheless, something that lacks piles of sand everywhere. Take the night, Silvius."

"Very good, sir." He bowed and left.

"Now," Servis said, sighing and leaning back in his chair, "we wait."

_Hopefully,_ he thought, _Livius comes through on his end._


	20. Chapter 20

Maxwell woke with the sun creeping in through the large windows of his tower room. An unfamiliar but not unwelcome weight rested on his chest, and he looked down at the dark, slightly tousled hair. Things were moving fast. Not just between him and Dorian, but everywhere. Josephine assured him of their allies. He'd sent word to Empress Celene, Archon Radonis, King Markus, and King Alistair to ask them to sign official treaties to aid the Inquisition into helping them stop Corypheus. His tentative alliance with the Prince of Starkhaven was cut short when the man was mad enough to think the Inquisition would aid him in sacking Kirkwall for no good reason. The city was still recovering from the destruction of the chantry, and Maxwell was more inclined to send troops to help Kirkwall rebuild instead of cause more devastation.

He sighed, and Dorian stirred, but didn't wake. It was still early, and he wanted to let him rest. He would have gone back to sleep but his brain was working overtime and it was impossible now. His talks with Hawke were tentative. He had no idea the Champion of Kirkwall was involved with the apostate that killed Grand Cleric Elthina. Though he'd read Varric's book several times, he still didn't understand why. Then again, the book was biased and focused more on Hawke's heroics than Anders and his reasons. It made Maxwell angry at first, but the more he found himself in the position to make difficult decisions, the more he wanted to know _why_.

Hawke had been extremely unhelpful in that regard.

_"I'm here to help you defeat Corypheus, not to explain or justify Anders' actions."_

_Maxwell felt slightly cowed by this almost larger than life figure standing before him. He had just passed his thirteenth name-day when word of the Qunari attack came to Ostwick. His cousins and eldest brother went to help with the fighting, and they returned with news that a Fereldan defeated the Arishok and became the Champion of Kirkwall. It was an excuse for the Teyrn of Ostwick to throw a party in his honor. Hawke hadn't attended, but they feasted well into the night. Any excuse for the nobles to celebrate._

_"I know you left Kirkwall."_

_Hawke sighed, folding his arms before casting an annoyed look at Varric, who merely shrugged and took another swig from a bottle._

_"We left Kirkwall to divert any of the Divine's soldiers from potentially leveling the city."_

_"But he was fine with destroying the chantry and killing so many innocent people." Maxwell almost regretted the words as they left his lips._

_Varric shook his head. "Hawke-"_

_Hawke held up a hand, cutting him off, dark green eyes still fixed on Maxwell. He stepped forward, and Maxwell held his ground, though inside he was terrified. Hawke was much taller, much broader, and built for fighting._

_"Innocent people. You weren't there, so you don't know. The mages that were enslaved in the Gallows were innocent. The ones that were turned Tranquil committed crimes no graver than passing love letters. They were beaten." He took another step forward, and Maxwell had to back up or be thrown off balance. "Raped." Another step. "These crimes were reported and hand-waved by the Grand Cleric. The First Enchanter saw no way out and had to resort to blood magic as the templars backed them against the wall after Meredith called for the Right of Annulment. She was insane. Drunk on red lyrium and her own power." His voice became dangerously quiet. "And no one, not a Maker damned person stood up for those mages. Except for Anders. He tried for years to get someone to listen to him. And no one did. Meredith demanded the Right of Annulment before he even touched the chantry. So don't you fucking dare talk to me of innocent people. People who stood by and did_ nothing _to stop the templars from hurting_ innocent _mages."_

_Varric made a noise that might have been a snort or a scoff._

_Hawke turned to him. "Something to add?"_

_"No, I think you pretty much covered it all, Hawke."_

_Maxwell let out a shuddering breath. "I didn't know."_

_"Yeah," Hawke huffed. "Maybe you should learn before you go making judgments."_

_"It's simply that I've heard people talk about him."_

_"They'll talk. Look, this isn't about Anders or the mages. Though I heard you recruited some of the rebels."_

_Maxwell was relieved when Hawke seemed pleased with that. "I have. But as you said, this isn't about mages."_

_"My friend Stroud. He'll be waiting in Crestwood. He needs to stay in hiding. The other Wardens are looking for him. He has information he's willing to share with the Inquisition. You'll meet us?"_

_Maxwell nodded. "Just as soon as we can."_

_"I'll be with him. Good luck."_

Maxwell found himself absently stroking Dorian's hair, running his fingers through the thick locks while he thought. They would leave for Crestwood today. Getting information about the Grey Wardens and their disappearance would be useful. Blackwall hadn't had much to say on that front when Maxwell asked him, and seemed evasive in general. Maybe Stroud, who was more in touch with the Wardens and not a lone recruiter, would be more open. And in the meantime, Leliana promised she sent birds out to find the Hero of Ferelden. He felt so small next to these historical giants. The Hero of Ferelden stopped a Blight. The shortest Blight in history. Hawke saved a city from a Qunari attack. And while his own accomplishments included closing the Breach, there was still so much to be done.

"You think so loudly," Dorian yawned.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Maxwell said quietly.

They'd taken to sleeping together. Just sleep, Maxwell insisted, though he was a bit eager to do more. He went to the chapel room off the garden to pray after Dorian brought him to orgasm the first time. To reconcile his feelings for him, that it was actually okay to let himself feel something Dorian, it was difficult. Taking his vows as a Chantry Brother, he was meant to give up worldly pursuits, which included sex and money and material things. The latter two were easy. Money could be better spent on the poor. Material things were just that. The Maker provided shelter, and he was fine in cotton and linen instead of fine silks and velvet. But sex seemed a bit ridiculous to give up. Not that love was solely dependent on sex or vice versa, but it was natural, wasn't it?

He was no longer a Chantry Brother. His money still went to the less fortunate. The silks he wore now were a mark of his status and part of his uniform as the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor. And sex… well, the Maker didn't need to be invited into his bedroom. After all, Andraste had sex, though it was almost blasphemous to talk about it. He didn't think that she meant for her prophet to go without. And Dorian was sweet, stealing kisses when he could, always touching his hand or comforting him when he needed it.

"Mm. Well, I'm awake now," Dorian said, resting his chin on Maxwell's chest. "Whatever shall we do?"

"You could kiss me and tell me how much you enjoy my quarters."

"The curtains need to go," Dorian said, and leaned up to kiss him.

Maxwell laughed into it and returned it, gasping as Dorian slid fully on top of him. "What's wrong with my curtains?" He was very much aware of the two thin layers of fabric between them, their silk pajama pants the only thing that separated them.

"They are simply ghastly."

"If you moved in here, I would think you could change them."

"Asking me to move in?"

Maxwell smiled, heat rising in his cheeks. "You sleep here nearly every night anyway."

"Yes, people are talking. Tongues are wagging. Alexius tried to ask me about it the other day and I had to redirect the conversation."

"How is he?"

Dorian sighed, and spoke between kisses that he trailed along Maxwell's skin. "You know. Tired. A bit despondent. Felix returning to Tevinter to settle affairs and speak with the Magisterium didn't do much for his overall happiness."

"They said their goodbyes, then," Maxwell said quietly. He did notice Alexius seemed different in the last few days. Felix was sick. Dying. He couldn't imagine what that was like, and gave a thought for his own father. He resolved to write him another letter before they left for Crestwood. While he wasn't sick or dying, he was in a position where he could be killed, and he couldn't imagine how difficult that was for his family. Whatever they were, they still loved him, and he them.

"Sad, but no one outlives the Blight. Not even Grey Wardens, I'm told. Let's talk about something less depressing."

"Like what?" Maxwell asked, secretly relieved that Dorian offered to change the subject. He liked Alexius once he got to know him, and Felix was a respectable man. The Maker would happily embrace him once it was his time. However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt. He wondered if Alexius would mind if he prayed for Felix, and made a note to talk to him about it.

"Like the fact that we're both half-naked in bed. Just after dawn. Nothing to do for the next several hours."

Maxwell laughed. "We could pack for Crestwood."

"Your servants are doing it."

"I suppose."

"Besides, do you know how to pack and pitch a tent? A literal tent," Dorian clarified, rolling his hips forward.

"Ah! I… no. I went camping once with my brothers." It was hard to concentrate as Dorian smirked, kissing down his chest. "It rained and they kicked me out of the tent. I slept in the mud."

"How utterly barbaric."

"It was uncomfortable."

"I'll bet."

"Dorian."

"Hm?"

"Do you think… we could… That is, I'd like to see you naked."

Dorian sat up slightly and smiled down at him. "For a usually eloquent man, you get so tongue-tied when sex is involved."

The teasing made Maxwell blush more. "I wish I didn't sound like an idiot when it comes to you."

"I expect it's only natural when confronted with a veritable paragon of perfection."

"Your ego will destroy Skyhold."

Dorian paused a moment, and Maxwell thought he saw a small frown. It was replaced quickly with an arrogant smirk, and Dorian moved to his knees, straddling Maxwell's thighs. Maxwell watched eagerly as he untied his pants and slowly pushed the fabric off his hips. The trail of hair from Dorian's navel continued downward, darker and thicker at the base of his cock which was half-hard. Neatly trimmed and groomed like the rest of Dorian, the pristine appearance made Maxwell slightly self-conscious.

"Speechless," Dorian said. He took himself in hand, and Maxwell watched wide-eyed as Dorian stroked himself to full hardness.

"You're just gorgeous." He felt his own cock twitch in anticipation.

"Of course I am. Now it's my turn." Dorian reached for the ties of his pants.

Maxwell grabbed his hand. "I'm not… trimmed like you are."

"My dear Inquisitor," Dorian said, leaning over to kiss him gently. "I have yet to meet a cock I haven't liked. And as this one is attached to you, I think I shall like it very much."

"Do you always know the right thing to say? Or do you practice that?"

"My brilliance flows naturally, like a fine wine. Lift your hips, Max."

Maxwell did as he was told, and Dorian relieved him of his pants. After a moment of shifting, they were both naked, their clothing in a haphazard pile at the foot of the bed. Maxwell watched Dorian examine him, eyes raking over his form, and he self-consciously moved to cover himself. Dorian seized his wrists and squeezed almost painfully.

"Don't you dare."

"Do you like it?" Maxwell asked. He, like other boys, compared his length when he was younger, and found nothing out of the ordinary. But Dorian licked his lips, and Maxwell thought his fears unfounded.

"Very much. And you've never done this before?" Dorian released one of his wrists and reached down to stroke him.

Maxwell wished he could have said he formed coherent sentences after that, but it would be a lie. Dorian inched back and ducked his head, and Maxwell was very glad his quarters were away from everything else. He had no idea how to be quiet, not when Dorian's mouth was on him. He'd heard of it, even read about it in dirty books his brothers kept. They spoke about their own couplings with women, and he thought about what it would be like, thrusting into his own hand late at night. But now he didn't have to wonder. It was _amazing_.

He knew the noises he was making were ridiculous, but Dorian didn't care. The only thing he did do was shove Maxwell's hands away when they reached for his hair, so Maxwell gripped the covers instead. A warm hand cupped his sac, squeezing him gently, and a string of gurgled noises spilled from his lips. He was begging to come, and was fairly sure he included the Maker in his pleas. Then, all at once, Dorian swallowed him to the hilt.

"I can't…" Maxwell breathed. "Oh. Oh…"

Dorian swallowed around him again and again, and Maxwell felt tears pricking his eyes. He was so close, and Dorian, Maker bless him, wasn't stopping. The constant barrage of suction, the overstimulation, his own inexperience, all of it came crashing together in one amazing crescendo of pleasure and he lost himself in that sweet ecstasy. When he opened his eyes again, he blinked furiously to clear the tears, and laughed. Limp and boneless, he lay still, breathing heavily, and looked down.

"Maker's breath, Dorian."

"Mm." Dorian nuzzled his thigh. "Turn over."

Maxwell did as he was told without thinking, breath catching when Dorian pushed him to his knees. "I'm not… I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Easy. I'm not going to take you yet."

_Yet._ The word carried with it the anticipation that Dorian would eventually penetrate him. It was exciting and terrifying.

"Close your thighs a bit. There we go."

Maxwell felt the slick lubricant and Dorian prick pressing against his skin. He realized what he was doing, and clenched his thighs as best he could, still feeling a bit tired from his own orgasm. Dorian thrust against him, using the friction to bring himself off. Maxwell marveled at the feeling, face buried in the pillow as Dorian's nails dug into his hips. The quiet slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, and Dorian's heavy breathing followed. Maxwell hoped one day he could make Dorian cry out the way he'd done, and resolved to bring him similar or greater pleasure next time they made love.

The thought made him giddy, and he had to bite the pillow the keep from laughing. Dorian laid a warm hand on the small of his back, and the rhythm increased. He rocked his hips, and soon he felt Dorian's orgasm, warm and sticky against the backs of his thighs. He realized belatedly that Dorian must've swallowed his, and felt almost guilty for it. Then again, he wasn't sure how these things ended. Normally on his own he would simply wipe off with a handkerchief and then do his own washing to avoid making the servants do it. But that mystery was solved almost at once as Dorian wiped him off with something soft.

"What did you-" Maxwell turned to look. "Oh." Dorian held his pajama pants in his hands, a questioning eyebrow raised. "That would work."

"Did you think I was going to leave you a mess?"

"No. I just… never had to deal with it. You swallowed?"

Dorian smirked and tossed the pants onto the floor before settled down against him. "Yes. It's generally considered polite."

"I'd like to try. Next time."

"Hopefully soon," Dorian said, yawning. "A bit more sleep before we leave."

Maxwell shifted and held Dorian close. He kissed his forehead. "Yes. All right."

And as Dorian fell into a quiet slumber, Maxwell's fingers found the pendant of Andraste around his neck, and gripped it. He had nothing to feel guilty about. And if word of his relationship reached his father… well. He would be facing Corypheus soon. An angry, disappointed father would merely be good practice.


	21. Chapter 21

They hadn't expected the ambush. It was one thing that Hawke wasn't there to greet them. Perhaps he got tired of waiting and set camp elsewhere, or maybe he just hadn't arrived yet. It was supposed to be a simple task. Find Hawke, meet up with Stroud, get the information he had regarding Corypheus and the other Wardens. But when they entered the cave, they found it empty save for a dead man wearing a Warden uniform. After checking to make sure he wasn't just knocked out - turning him over revealed the gaping wound in his chest - Maxwell knew they were in trouble. Then, from out of nowhere, the cave filled with Red Templars and abominations. Bull and Cassandra closed rank around him immediately, while Dorian erected a barrier. Not for the first time did Maxwell feel useless in a fight, doing everything he could to keep out from underfoot, raising his sword to defend himself from incoming blows.

Inquisition soldiers on patrol for bandits in the area heard the commotion from inside the cave and rushed in to aid them. Maxwell thanked the Maker they were there, and they sustained only a handful of wounded, instead of the slaughter it could have been. Cassandra took charge, ordering the search for Hawke, and the removal of Stroud's body to an Inquisition camp. He would be looked at by their people, the body sent on to the next of kin for a proper pyre. She followed them, telling the others she'd catch up with them in camp soon. Maxwell, shaken, leaned against Bull as they exited the cave.

"But how did they know we would be there? How did they know Stroud was…"

"Maybe they saw him going in," Bull suggested, though he doubted it. The whole thing stank. "You said you trusted Hawke."

"Of course I trust Hawke! He's the one that was going to introduce us to Stroud in the first place." Maxwell limped slightly, favoring his ankle.

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked. "Were you hurt? Stop walking."

Maxwell took another step and crumpled to the ground, Bull catching him before he hit. Dorian knelt down as Bull lowered him carefully, and gingerly pulled up his pants leg.

"Sprained," Dorian said. "Possibly fractured or broken. We can take a look back at camp."

"Up you get, boss," Bull said, pulling Maxwell up easily onto his back.

Maxwell was flustered. "I don't need… I can walk."

"Barely," Dorian noted. "It's fine. It's not as if I'll get jealous."

Maxwell, behind Bull and clinging to him, missed the look that Bull threw at Dorian. Thankfully the nearest camp wasn't too far away, and Bull settled him on a cot.

"Nearest healer's in Caer Bronach, my lord," one of the officers informed him. "We've only just set up here a week."

"That's only a few hours' walk."

"Walking which you can't do," Bull said. "Can we wrap it up at least?" he asked the officer. The man saluted and hurried to a tent to fetch the proper supplies. Bull looked Dorian. "You can't heal this?"

"Dorian's not a healer," Maxwell cut across. "It's fine."

Dorian huffed. "Magic doesn't work on a whim. Not all specializations are available to everyone. Though I don't expect someone like _you_ to understand that."

"Meaning?" Bull said, though he wasn't eager to start an argument, he would damn well finish it.

"Meaning your people are just like everyone else in Thedas. Worse, even, since you sew your mages' mouths shut!"

"Is that… that's not true, is it?" Maxwell asked, but he was drowned out by the argument going on above him.

"Watch it," Bull growled.

"Why? Going to do it to me?"

"Depends on if you shut your trap or if I have to shut it for you."

"STOP!" Maxwell shouted. He realized the soldiers in the camp stopped to look at him, to see what the commotion was. He'd never really raised his voice before; he'd never needed to. If he knew that bringing Bull and Dorian along together was going to cause such strife, he would've left one or the other back in Skyhold. He wasn't vain enough to think arguing was because of him. More likely just bad blood between their countries spilling into their own personal bias. It was a shame. He thought they would be able to put aside their differences for the sake of the Inquisition.

"The bandages, Inquisitor," said the officer, returning with a kit.

"Thank you," Maxwell said. "Bull, would you mind?"

Bull took the kit, still angry or frustrated, and knelt next to Maxwell's cot. "Gonna get your boot off to wrap the whole thing."

"Whatever you think is best," Maxwell said graciously. He felt Dorian behind him, reaching up for his hand and found it, warm and soft.

Bull gingerly pulled his boot off, and his sock, tied a poultice against the skin, and started to wrap it. The silence was awkward and tense, and Maxwell sighed heavily.

"Is this going to be a problem?"

Bull shrugged, then grunted.

"Eloquent," Dorian sniffed.

"Dorian," Maxwell sighed. "Please. Can't you two agree to disagree? There are larger things at stake."

Bull looked up. "Fine."

"I will if he will," Dorian said.

"Thank you." Maxwell leaned back against Dorian, watching Bull wrap his ankle. When Cassandra stepped into the camp, he winced. "Any ideas?"

"What did you do to yourself?" Cassandra asked, disapproval heavy in her tone as she looked him over.

"Sprain, I think. We're going to Caer Bronach for a healer."

Cassandra shook her head disbelievingly. "Leliana's people are on Hawke's trail. There were signs of a struggle, and blood."

Maxwell felt suddenly faint, and was glad he was already sitting down. "Do you think…"

"I would rather not presume. Hawke is resourceful. He will not die easily."

Maxwell hoped not. With Stroud dead, they lost a very important piece of the puzzle. "Do you think we can find the Grey Wardens without Stroud?"

"Leliana's people have been searching. Our biggest hope now is that she finds the Hero of Ferelden and we can get answers from him. Can you walk?"

Maxwell reached out a hand and Cassandra took it, pulling him easily to his feet. He tried to put weight on his ankle, and pain shot up through his leg. He paled, nausea sweeping over him at once, and nearly fell. Cassandra set him back on the cot.

"You," she ordered one of the camp soldiers, "a stretcher."

"I don't need-"

"Yes," she interrupted. "You do." She looked at Bull. "You'll carry one end."

Bull shrugged. "I can just carry him on my own if you want."

Cassandra smirked. "No doubt you can, but it is a long walk to Caer Bronach. We have no horses here, otherwise I would have suggested that." She helped Maxwell onto the stretcher, and together she and Bull lifted it.

"I feel like an invalid," Maxwell complained.

"Shush," Dorian said, moving to walk next to him. "Let them carry you about like you deserve. If only we had a few bunches of grapes. Perhaps a large palm frond to fan you with."

Maxwell groaned and laid back. "Please, no. I'm Andraste's Herald, not a deity."

"Some would argue that's one in the same thing," Dorian said.

"Thankfully Andraste chose Maxwell and not you," Cassandra interjected. "He is humble enough to accept his fate without boasting about it."

"I simply think he should be given credit where it's due."

"There will be parade, honoring him and how he managed to hurt himself despite not actually being in the fight."

Maxwell covered his face and groaned. "Please tell them to leave this out of the history books when they write my story."

"You are not inept. Just clumsy."

"That makes it so much better," Maxwell said, as Cassandra smirked down at him.

He let them have their joke, reaching out to take hold of Dorian's hand once more, and fell silent as they walked the path to Caer Bronach.

-

Spending the night in the stronghold was something Cassandra insisted on. While Maxwell was mostly recovered, there were no mages stationed there. His ankle was rewrapped, elfroot administered. He could limp with little pain, but sleeping before heading out again in the morning was beneficial to everyone. Cassandra set a message to Skyhold to let them know what happened. She made sure the scouts knew to wake them if there was any sign of Hawke, and then retired. Bull, not eager to spend any more time in Dorian's presence, ducked into one of the tents as well. And Maxwell, once he spoke to the troops, giving words of encouragement, praying with those who wished it, retired soon after. Dorian went with, wondering if Hawke was killed or taken captive. Servis would certainly find a use for him.

"What do you think's happened?" Maxwell asked.

They pushed the cots and sleeping pallets together. Semi-permanent lodgings in the stronghold allowed for better beds than if they were just camping. Dorian still found it all very distasteful. A few more weeks of discomfort, maybe a little longer, and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Silken sheets and feather beds awaited him.

"He might be on the run." A convincing hopefulness. Dorian made his false platitudes sound genuine, and Maxwell, while he might not believe the words, was grateful for them.

"What do you think happened? How did the Red Templars know where to find him?" Maxwell inched closer to him.

Dorian obliged, pulling Maxwell into his arms and kissed his forehead. With Stroud out of the way and Hawke potentially dead, that left the way clear for Corypheus's plans with the Grey Wardens. Servis hadn't explained the whole plan, which was a good idea. Just in case one of the Inquisition members pulled their head from their ass and realized what was going on, they couldn't torture him for information. Not that he thought that would ever happen. Not with Maxwell in charge. It was laughably easy to manipulate these people.

"I couldn't say. I can't imagine they would kidnap him. More likely they would have killed him and left his body with Stroud's."

Maxwell made a noise of distress, and Dorian closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. Instead, he tightened his hold on him, and Maxwell rested against his chest, whispering something.

"Hm?"

"Just a prayer for Stroud and for Hawke," Maxwell said. "Do you know the Chant?"

"We attended services when I was younger, but I'm afraid I never learned it by rote." While Dorian considered himself an Andrastian, the Maker and His bride hadn't done much for him lately.

"I keep you in my prayers. Every night since we first met."

_How incredibly droll._ "It's nice to know someone cares."

"Of course I do," Maxwell said, and leaned up to kiss him. "When we return to Skyhold, there's going to be a lot of backlash. I can only imagine what Varric's going to say with his friend missing." He let out a breath. "Do you think you could talk to Alexius?"

"Whatever for?"

"Maybe he's heard something. Or knows something. I don't know."

_Alexius had the right idea and then he turned his back on the country of his birth._ "Of course I'll talk to him. But I wouldn't hold my breath about it. He's no longer with the Elder One."

Maxwell nodded and yawned. "Thank you. It's been… It's been rough. Ever since Haven I thought maybe we were doing better."

"It's just a setback, Max." _One of many to come._ "Just stay positive."

Maxwell offered a tired smile and drifted off to sleep, leaving Dorian to contemplate the Venatori's next move. With any luck, Servis or Lucanus would get him out of there soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is finished so you'll be seeing some rapidfire updates in the next week. Thank you every who's still reading!


	22. Chapter 22

Dorian sat on the upper level of the tavern, gazing out the window, glass of wine in hand. It would have been easier to meet Alexius in his room, but for as many conversations as he'd had with him already, he thought this one was best done in public. "Maxwell seems to think you might have an idea as to what happened to that Hawke fellow."

Alexius turned his glass in hand, frowning a bit. "Was it Venatori?"

"Red Templars. They ambushed us."

"I'm glad to see you're all right. You've been through too much as it is."

He worked to keep himself in check. Part of him wanted to shout at Alexius, to berate him for not being there for him sooner. For fleeing Tevinter to Ferelden, then giving up so easily on his convictions. If Alexius had just listened to him back in Tevinter, given up on chasing false hope, then they could have remained home and none of this would've happened. Then, when Alexius found a greater purpose, he gave it up that easily.

"I have."

"Dorian… I couldn't say this before, so I should like to now."

"Don't." If he was going to apologize or explain himself, Dorian didn't want to hear it. After his own father gave up on him, he looked at Alexius as a surrogate. But it was just disappointment after disappointment. "I've had enough of apologies and pity for one lifetime."

Alexius frowned, eyes falling to his glass. "I know I've let you down."

"I said, 'Don't'." Dorian drained his wine glass, then waved a passing serving girl for a refill. The dark red liquid sloshed to the brim, a few drops dotting the wooden tabletop as she left. He had chosen a public location to make sure Alexius couldn't manipulate him into letting something slip. "You could have been there for me and you chose not to."

"I am not proud of the mistakes I've made. Have you spoken with anyone about-"

"No," Dorian snapped. "And I don't intend to. If it's not you, it's the damned Inquisitor. I am fine."

Alexius gave him a look which stated clearly that he didn't believe a word of that. Nevertheless, he changed tact. "I'll speak with him regarding Hawke. I don't have any information, but perhaps I can assist in other ways."

"He's not in Skyhold at the moment." Dorian recalled the earlier conversation. Something about a Qunari dreadnought and Venatori smuggling red lyrium. That it was a personal favor to the Iron Bull didn't sit well with Dorian. Maxwell seemed to not be interested in the Qunari romantically or sexually. And who would, when he had a much better choice waiting for him? Still, the fact that the Iron Bull was a spy, and Maxwell seemed fine with it… It was all too unnerving for him.

"I see. And your relationship with him."

"What about it?" Dorian wasn't in the mood to defend himself. Alexius had always known of his proclivities. After all, it was he who'd found him in the whorehouse during one of the lowest points in his life. Alexius defended him against the rumors. _But he wasn't there to defend me to my father._ He took a long sip of wine and waited for Alexius to speak.

"Are you happy with him?"

"And if I said I was? Would you believe me? Would you even care?"

Alexius sighed, a long-suffering sound that made Dorian want to throw his wine in his former mentor's face. A coil of guilt twisted in his stomach. Alexius wasn't truly to blame. And he was there when Dorian had needed him at one point, which was more than he could say for most of the people in his life. Perhaps when the Venatori took over and the Elder One reestablished himself in Tevinter, he would ask for Alexius's life to be spared. Maybe something of the former man he used to idolize would resurface.

"Of course. And he's a good choice."

_Better than an elven whore, you mean. Shame it's just a role to be played._ It was ironic that he felt comfortable playing this part, pretending to love this man, when he couldn't do it for his father and potential bride. And what did it say about Halward Pavus when he was less willing to disappoint Lucanus in the end? Lucanus saw him as something more, someone who could rise beyond his station without compromising his values.

"Because he's the Inquisitor," Dorian said pointedly.

Alexius gave a wry smirk with a slight roll of his eyes. It was a familiar, almost patronizing expression that Dorian was used to. "No. That would imply you sought him for his power, and I know you better than that. He's a sheltered boy with a lot of responsibility. You can take him out of that innocence, and at the same time I think he'll teach you restraint."

Dorian snorted. "Restraint."

"That was not a veiled euphemism."

"It could have been. Alas, a missed opportunity." Dorian shook his head and leaned forward, reaching out to touch Alexius's hand. "My dear man. In all the years you have known me, have you seen anything that would ever lead you to believe that I would exercise restraint? In anything?"

"That's what worries me, my boy." Alexius patted the hand atop his, and he sighed heavily. "Are you going to tell your father?"

Dorian pulled away at once, returning to his wine glass. He took a few sips, gaze back out the window. "No."

"Dorian-"

"He disowned me. He wants nothing else to do with me. This is my business, and I'll thank you not to involve him. Or," he added, finally looking at Alexius, "to tell him about what transpired with my kidnapping." He watched Alexius's expression change, from eager to tired. Frowning, he looked away once more, not liking the feeling of guilt that crept into his chest. "Please."

It was the last that clinched it, and Alexius cleared his throat. "Of course. I could talk to your father if you wanted. Invite him here, perhaps."

"No!"

"Dorian-"

Dorian stood, knocking the table. His glass tipped over and rolling fast toward Alexius, contents spilling across the wood. Alexius got to his feet quickly, but Dorian stalked past him and down the stairs, ignoring as Alexius called after him. The tavern's patrons looked over, and he was vaguely aware of their whispers as he left, hurrying across the courtyard, heading toward the front gates. He stopped, turned, and made for the kitchens instead, knowing the many empty rooms beyond, and found solitude in the wine cellar. Confusion battled with guilt, and his head started to ache as he paced the long hall.

"It's fine. Everything is _fine_ ," he muttered through gritted teeth. His father cared nothing for him. His father was going to change him into something he wasn't. Lucanus and Servis, they didn't care that he was different. Maker, he'd even fooled around with Servis once. It was apparent that they only wanted him to succeed. And in the new Tevinter, he could be with anyone he wanted. If he could only convince Alexius of the idea once more. Get him to turn. But no, Alexius would tell the Inquisitor. He turned on his heel and looked up suddenly. "Cole."

The spirit stood before him, a look of sadness touching his features, half-hidden under hair and hat. "I came because you needed me."

"I don't need you," he snapped.

"There's a blackness inside you, bouncing around like a ball of hurt, tangled up with the pain of what they did to you. I can loosen it. Make you better." Cole stepped forward, lifting a hand.

"I order you to stop," Dorian said quickly, before Cole could do anything. He was on the verge of panic, the disdain he felt for the Inquisition and for his father clashing with the sympathy from Alexius. He was a weak man, but he meant well.

"You love him," Cole said, lowering his hand slowly. "If you don't listen to me, listen to him. He will take away the fear."

"I am _not_ afraid! Not of anything!" It was a lie, one he told himself regularly. He wanted to go back to Lucanus. To the surety of his day to day schedule. Maybe they were wrong about him. Maybe he wasn't strong enough to do this.

"You are strong," Cole pressed, stepping forward again. "I-I don't mean to make it worse. I want to fix-"

The magic formed in Dorian's palm before he could stop himself. A ball of black lightning shot forward and Cole disappeared before it could connect. Dorian heard movement in the rafters and looked up, seeing Cole perched there like a bird.

"The Inquisitor is back. He's upset. He needs you."

And then he disappeared. Dorian bent double, hands on his knees, breathing hard. He needed to collect himself, and then find Maxwell. He needed to avoid Alexius now, and thought Alexius would understand that. He would think it was to do with his father, not with his insecurities about his ability to carry on. But what was the alternative? To admit failure? No. He wouldn't do that. Just a bit longer. Days or weeks, he could hold on. He would see this through. Feeling slightly calmer now, he left the wine cellar to find Maxwell.

-

Quarter of an hour later, Dorian was sitting on the Inquisitor's bed, watching him pace the room. His earlier panic dissipated, having something to focus on now. And more information for Lucanus would be welcome.

"I couldn't let them die. I called the retreat. The dreadnought… Maker, Dorian, you should have seen it. All those people."

_Just Qunari,_ Dorian thought, but didn't say. Maxwell was too soft-hearted for this. "Is the alliance salvageable?"

Maxwell shook his head. "They sent Gatt – Bull's contact – to tell him he was Tal-Vashoth now. The last thing he ever wanted and I did that to him. I should go talk to him, but I couldn't even look him in the face. He's got nowhere to go now."

_All this fuss over a Qunari._ "Max."

"Don't." Maxwell sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, looking tired. "It was a decision that needed to be made and I made it. Krem and the rest of the Chargers are still alive because of me."

Dorian stood, crossed behind him, and pulled him close, arms wrapped around his middle. "Focus on that. Think of the lives you saved."

"But the lyrium."

"It's all right. I'm sure it will work out. Your soldiers are smart."

"I should talk to Bull."

Dorian kissed the side of his neck. "Later. Let him have his time alone to reflect or whatever it is he does. Hit things really hard while making horribly undignified grunting noises." Maxwell laughed at that, and Dorian was pleased, as he'd meant it as an insult. Apparently it was taken as a sarcastic joke. All the better. "He'll drink himself silly and you can talk to him in the morning. Let me help you forget."

"I… I don't know. I'm not really in the mood."

Dorian worked the clasps to his belt, and unbuttoned his shirt. "Let me, _Amatus_ ," he whispered against his ear.

Maxwell's head dropped back onto his shoulder, and Dorian slid his hand inside the silken clothing.

_I was foolish to have doubted myself. This,_ he thought, smirking, _is all too easy._


	23. Chapter 23

Several days later they received a report from the Blades of Hessarian on the Storm Coast regarding Hawke. Dorian was unfamiliar with the group, but Maxwell filled him in as they rode from Skyhold to meet them. It seemed Dorian missed out on quite a bit when he was with Lucanus, and he made a note of the name. No doubt the Venatori would want to wipe this group out so the Inquisition couldn't depend on them for backup. The war room, and in fact Commander Cullen's office, held quite a bit of information on little groups like this all over Ferelden and Orlais. Dorian would meet with one of Servis's contacts soon, and he had quite a lot of information to pass on. But taking little potshots at the Inquisition was hardly satisfying. Talks with the larger groups of Thedas would begin, as they were starting to gain in power and notoriety. It was only a matter of time before Empress Celene would invite Maxwell for a visit. And he learned that King Alistair was already in negotiations with them.

While some of the Inquisition's allies were openly declaring for them, others preferred to remain silent partners. Dorian felt it was his job to find out who, and turn their names in. They could be decimated or assimilated. He didn't care which. No doubt he was proving useful. It was simply frustrating not to see his information bearing any fruit yet, with the obvious exception of Stroud's death. It was stupid of the templars, really, to leave an ambush for the Inquisitor. No doubt they thought he would be caught off guard, and he was. However, he was too heavily protected for something like that. It was a foolish, premature bid for power.

They arrived, soaking wet and freezing, on the Storm Coast. If nothing else, Dorian had to give credit to the Fereldans who named the area. It was definitely stormy. Rain pelted them as they stepped into the small stronghold, hopping off their horses. Men in identical blue uniforms led the beasts away toward the stables. Through the rain and thunder, Dorian could barely make out the shouted conversation between Maxwell and another man regarding Hawke. They hurried across the yard and into a wooden hut. A fire blazed in a corner fireplace, and the chill from the rain eased somewhat. Though, Dorian noted, they were still soaked to their smalls. He knew other members of the Inquisition were on the Storm Coast as well, stationed in various camps. Maxwell asked specifically that he come with to look after Hawke, and Dorian obliged.

"Maker's breath," Maxwell gasped, when he saw the man lying in bed near the fireplace.

Dorian watched him cross the room, sloshing in his boots. The man - he assumed that was Hawke - was asleep, but his eyes opened when Maxwell approached and knelt down. Sheets pulled to his waist, Dorian could only see the wounds on his head, arms, and chest. But that was enough. He was badly bruised and bandaged. One eye was swollen shut. His right hand looked like it was broken or worse, wrapped up in several layers of linen. Angry black stitches lined his skin in various places. His color was good, however, a deep rich tan that most Fereldans seemed to have year round. He was breathing steadily, and seemed lucid.

"Inquisitor," he said hoarsely. "Not exactly what I had planned for our second meeting."

"Don't worry about that," Maxwell said. "Are you all right?"

"I will be. Nothing permanent, they assure me. Stroud… I guess you saw." Hawke sighed. "He was a good man."

"The Inquisition will send his body to his next of kin. Hawke, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

Leave it to Maxwell to take the blame, when no one could've anticipated that ambush.

Hawke seemed to have the same idea, and lifted his hand in dismissal. "I managed to escape. Barely. Hid in the hills but some bandits decided I was easy pickings. I got picked up by the Blades of Hessarian. Woke up long enough to tell them who I was, since I knew they were with you." He gestured to the Inquisition banner over the mantle.

"You're welcome to come back to Skyhold when you're well enough to move," Maxwell said. "We'll take good care of you there."

"No," Hawke winced. "No. I've got to get back to the Free Marches. This whole thing's gone to shit. There's one other Grey Warden I know of and I'm not about to let anything happen to him."

Maxwell nodded knowingly. "I understand. I'll send a bird to Skyhold. One of our healers will come here to take care of you. Help you heal faster."

"Being part of the Inquisition comes with health benefits," Hawke joked.

Maxwell laughed, his hand reaching up to touch the pendant at his throat. A tic, Dorian noticed, when he was troubled or confused. "To counterbalance the health risks."

"You didn't have to come out here to see me," Hawke said.

"Yes, I did. After what you risked for the Inquisition, I had to."

The door opened and a woman wearing a rain-repellant coat over her Blades of Hessarian uniform stepped inside. "Inquisitor. Your cabin is ready."

"Thank you." He looked back at Hawke and stood, touching his uninjured hand. "Will you send word once you reach your destination? We could still use your help. Even with the loss of information, you'll be a valuable asset against Corypheus."

"We'll definitely be in touch," Hawke promised.

"Come to Skyhold soon. And… he's invited as well."

Hawke smirked, or grimaced. It was hard to tell under the bruising and swelling. "I don't think I'll be leaving his side anytime soon after this."

"Rest well, Hawke. I'll say my goodbyes in the morning."

"Take care."

Dorian followed Maxwell and the woman out, back into the rain which was still pouring down, into another small cabin. This had a fireplace as well, one large bed covered in furs, a table with two chairs, and a window which was currently shuttered against the rain.

"Help yourself to the pantry, my lord," the woman instructed. "We'll have fresh horses for you in the morning and a hot breakfast."

"Thank you," Maxwell said, and latched the door once she left. He turned to Dorian, his somewhat grim expression fading. "Oh. Your hair."

"As popular as the drowned rat look is in Ferelden," Dorian said, then slicked his hair back. He knelt down and started to remove his boots, putting them on the hearth.

They undressed in silence, stripping to their smallclothes, hanging and draping articles of clothing around the room. Dorian removed his smalls, smirking when Maxwell blushed.

"Nothing you haven't seen already, though I do understand the thrill and allure of it," Dorian said, stretching widely so Maxwell could get an eyeful.

"You're going to walk around nude?"

"Does it offend your sensibilities?" Dorian asked, pulling one of the fur blankets from the bed. He wrapped himself in it and opened the pantry to look. "Not much, but enough for a decent cold supper." He turned around to see Maxwell stepping out of his smalls as well, and smirked. "They should write odes to your backside."

Maxwell rolled his eyes, and similarly pulled a fur blanket from the bed. They sat together and ate salted beef, cheese, and hard bread. The wine was watered but halfway decent, and neither spoke until their plates were almost empty.

"Who was Hawke talking about?" Dorian asked curiously. His head was full of a running tally of allies. Hawke was definitely formidable, and if he had friends, the Venatori would need to know.

"It's a bit of a controversial topic. I didn't really agree with it at first, but after talking to Hawke about it all, I think I'm starting to understand his motivations."

Dorian sighed. "There you go. Getting all cryptic in your explanations."

Maxwell ducked his head. "Sorry. It's… the apostate. Anders. The one who blew up the Kirkwall chantry. Though I think he probably wouldn't like to be addressed that way."

"I did hear a rumor about them," Dorian said. "That they were lovers." He wasn't too surprised, but having it confirmed made a difference. "Is the Inquisition planning on allying with that sort of person?"

"What do you think I should do?" Maxwell asked sincerely.

"Me? I'm hardly one of your advisors."

"I trust you."

Dorian forced his smirk into a smile that was genuine and warm. "I'm pleased you do." He paused, thinking about it. Half the Inquisition's forces were made of rebel mages, but not all of them voted to secede from the Chantry. _Fools. Allowing themselves to become imprisoned. Likely brainwashed into thinking it was good for them._ "I would speak first with Grand Enchanter Fiona. Though you hardly need her approval for anything," he added. "But as a measure of good faith. I wouldn't think it a good idea to have him and Hawke staying at Skyhold. At least not for long periods of time. It does depend on how you see the Circles and if you plan on rebuilding them after this is over." The Circles, of course, would continue as they were in Tevinter. Lucanus and Servis assured him of that. Schools of magic all over Thedas. Mages would be accepted, not feared and locked in cages.

"I'll speak with her. She should be amenable. After all, she voted to secede from the Chantry, though we never talked specifically about what happened in Kirkwall." He paused, thinking a moment. "Do you think it would work here? The Circles how they are in Tevinter?"

"It has been for us for a while now." One of the many reason mages in Tevinters thought themselves superior. They weren't prisoners. They were elite scholars.

"We're in the position to change that," Maxwell said, stretching, the fur blanket slipping from his shoulders. "If we can get the heads of other countries to agree once the Chantry's reestablished. Josephine's right - religion is common ground for everyone, regardless of nationality."

"Mm. Tired?" Dorian asked, changing the subject.

"A bit. It's been a long day."

Dorian stood and pulled Maxwell to his feet, tugging him over to the bed. They fell in together, buried under the piles of fur on the somewhat lumpy mattress. Maxwell curled up around him, and Dorian used a subtle bit of magic to increase the warmth.

"I know I shouldn't be surprised at how easily you do that. Use magic, I mean. Solas does it too. And lots of the mages at Skyhold. The healers."

_Used to your mages locked up and dancing like trained monkeys._ "Do you want me to stop?"

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." Max tilted his head to look at him. "Never feel like you need to restrain yourself around me."

"Be careful what you wish for," Dorian murmured, sliding a hand down his side.

Maxwell laughed and worked his thigh between Dorian's legs. "Not tonight."

"Tonight is perfect."

"Back at Skyhold. I want… We've been moving faster than I would have liked, but-"

"Why restrain yourself?" Dorian asked. "When you tell me not to?"

"I don't know," Maxwell said, frowning. His hand moved to his pendant, and Dorian gripped his fingers before he could touch it. "All my life I've lived avoiding excess. Learning how to be humble. To give rather than receive."

"You're no longer a Chantry Brother. You're the Inquisitor. And you should indulge. But very well." He kissed Maxwell's forehead. "We'll wait. But once we get back to Skyhold, I want to show you the best parts."

"Yes. I'd like that."

Dorian held him close, listening to him fall asleep, the pounding of the rain against the roof, and hoped he wouldn't have to keep this farce up too much longer.

-

The lull of the rain put Dorian to sleep, and the silence when it stopped woke him. He opened his eyes blearily, the dying embers of the fire leaving the room cold. For a moment he forgot where he was, but the snoring man next to him jarringly forced his memory. Some shack on the Storm Coast. He slid out of bed and built the fire back up with an easy spell, shivering as his bare feet hit the floor. They hadn't finished the wine, and he helped himself to a swig, which alerted him to his rather full bladder. Though lacking any shame or modesty, he didn't think the Blades of Hessarian worthy of viewing him in the buff, and he pulled his still slightly damp pants from the mantle and stepped easily into them.

The camp was quiet, and Dorian assumed they'd have patrols along the outside of the fort's walls. Not having any idea where the privy might be, or even if they built an outhouse inside the camp, he decided to slip out a side gate, and meandered down a slope to find a tree or a bush. Business complete, he did up his ties and turned around, stopping suddenly. A prickle of anxiety worked its way up his spine, and he looked around, starting to gather his mana for an attack, just in case.

"I am not here to hurt you."

The voice came from above, and Dorian looked up. Two pinpricks in the night, reflecting the moonlight, and a dark figure jumped down from the branch it was sitting on.

"Just a pervert?" Dorian asked, feeling distinctly violated.

"I didn't watch," the elf assured him. He wore a half-mask that covered his nose and mouth. His long black hair ruffled in the light breeze, and his leathers were well-worn. Two daggers sat at his hips, and Dorian saw three pouches on his belt. "Dorian Pavus."

"Word does spread, I suppose. Good to be popular, no matter where you are."

"Crassius Servis sent me."

Dorian straightened at once. "Here? How did he-"

"Spies. Everywhere."

"I can do the job," Dorian said haughtily, feeling put out.

"We're not here to check up on you," the elf assured him. "Don't worry. He says there's no one who could replace you."

Dorian sniffed airily, feeling somewhat mollified. "You need information."

"He thought it safer than to send a bird. After the templars botched the assassination attempt on the Inquisitor, the Venatori wanted to maintain a stronger presence in Ferelden. We haven't much time."

Dorian quickly relayed the information he had, names he remembered, including Hawke's and his renegade apostate, mercenary groups that the Inquisition hired, nobles that were secretly allied with them. "When can I expect you to drop in again?"

"The Inquisition will go to Orlais soon to meet with whoever ends up in charge."

"Empress Celene?"

"Empress Celene will die within the month. Our agent on the inside will make sure of it. The Inquisition will not hear of it until it's too late."

"How do you know?"

"General Samson is marching on Denerim in a fortnight with his Red Templars. No doubt King Alistair will entreat aid, and the Inquisition's forces will be divided and spread."

Dorian snorted. "Let's hope they're better at killing kings than taking down Champions and Inquisitors."

The elf smirked and shook his head. "More Red Templars are being grown every day."

"Er. Grown?"

"Never mind that. Just keep your head down and make Servis proud."

"Don't ever doubt that," Dorian said.

"In Orlais, you'll be further informed."

"Does Servis want me to kill the Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, wondering why he hadn't received that order yet. He was in the position to do it.

"No. Too much suspicion would fall on you and despite his death, the Inquisition would continue. We need you for your valuable insight to the information. We can't lose you, Dorian." Under his mask the elf smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "We'll be in touch."

The elf leapt up, swinging himself onto a branch and into the tree, and disappeared from sight. Dorian, feeling rather important and pleased with himself, returned to the cabin. He replaced his trousers on the mantle and slid back into bed, Maxwell stirring slightly.

"Dorian?" he asked, half-asleep.

"Had to use the privy," Dorian said, pulling him into an embrace. "Go back to sleep, love."

Maxwell smiled tiredly, not even opening his eyes, and settled back into his dreams. Dorian lay still for a long time, thinking about the weeks to come and the important role he had to play.


	24. Chapter 24

Maxwell was understandably distracted when they arrived at Skyhold. He spent hours in the war room with his advisors, and Dorian was happy to let him have at it. He busied himself with other things, idling in the courtyard, watching the soldiers train. The other members of the Inquisition seemed to always have something to do, dispatched to the Hinterlands or wherever Maxwell deemed fit to send them. It was amusing in a way to watch them scurry around like ants, always busy, while he took an afternoon stroll. Inevitably though, he would end up in Maxwell's bed at the end of the day. More often than not, just to hold him and talk him through his exhaustion.

"You've been so patient with me," Maxwell said, two weeks after their brief encounter with Hawke. "I haven't had much time for anything else lately."

"The Inquisitor's work is never done. Up at dawn, issuing orders. Moving little pieces around your big map."

"I'm serious, Dorian." Maxwell turned to him. They were getting ready for bed, and he stopped mid-unbuttoning his shirt.

"So am I." Dorian crossed the room and continued for him, kissing the bits of exposed flesh.

"I just don't understand," he sighed, as he let Dorian undress him. "We were gaining so much ground and now it seems like everything is going backward. Groups that were willing to work with us before are pulling away. Josephine's been working at least twice as hard as I am. I'm afraid she's going to drop. Leliana's spies can't make night or day of it."

Dorian knelt, unbuckling his boots, then helped him out of them. He felt Maxwell's hands on his shoulders to steady himself, and slowly ran his own up the silken pant legs. "Perhaps you should go speak to these groups personally?"

"That's just it. They refuse to meet with me. I'm not… I'm not used to that."

_Not used to getting your own way. The silver spoon has been removed. Well, better get used to it. Fast._ Dorian nuzzled his thigh and started to work on the ties to his trousers. "What news from the Free Marches?"

"Starkhaven's prince refuses to deal with us since we drove him away from Kirkwall. The man is insane. He wanted to kill innocent civilians to hunt an apostate who's no longer in the city limits. Ostwick, my father's said the guard is on my side, but we've no army. Most of the templars left for Maker knows where. Therinfal Redoubt is emptied and we haven't had any luck finding their stronghold. Though reports are definitely coming from Ferelden about more red lyrium cropping up. It's becoming a serious problem. Varric says he has people looking into it, but I'm not sure how much that's going to help. The source of it, whatever it is, seems almost endless. The Grey Wardens are still missing and Weisshaupt hasn't returned any of our communications, even if they're getting through. Leliana hasn't found the Hero of Ferelden yet, either. On top of that, reports from Tevinter say- What are you doing?"

Dorian pulled his trousers down and was currently kissing up his thighs. He smirked up at Maxwell, and mouthed his soft cock through the fabric of his smalls. Maxwell's knees shook lightly, and he gasped, grabbing Dorian's shoulders again for balance.

"Dorian, I'm sorry, I don't think it's-"

"You need a night of relaxation. You haven't been sleeping well." Then, for leverage he added, "I'm worried about you."

"I just haven't been in the mood."

"Your body says otherwise," Dorian said, reaching up to squeeze him gently. He felt Maxwell's cock harden, filling his hand as he worked him. "Let me take care of you tonight. If it makes you feel better, you can even keep telling me your troubles. If you can still talk once I'm through with you."

He watched Maxwell swallow hard, eyes darting to his desk and back, mind obviously on the day's paperwork and other tedious details that needed to be sorted before bed. Another firm stroke, and his eyes fluttered closed briefly before looking back down at Dorian.

"All… all right," he said, clearing his throat. "Yes."

Dorian tugged his smalls down, licking up the underside of his cock and catching him by surprise. He wobbled, and Dorian stood quickly to catch him. A quick kiss, and he maneuvered them toward the bed. Thankfully as they fell into it, Maxwell remained silent save for the quiet whimpering noises as Dorian teased his erection, kissing and stroking him. He patted his hip, an order to roll over, and Maxwell did.

"On your knees, gorgeous."

Maxwell listened, pulling a pillow to his chest, hugging tightly. "I… know I haven't said this yet, Dorian. But I really… I love you."

Dorian paused. It must've been too long, because Maxwell looked back at him, and opened his mouth to speak. "No. It's…" Dorian cut him off, and managed a smile. "I'm glad."

Maxwell let out an unsure sort of laughter. "I understand if you don't… Well. I just wanted to say it. To let you know what you mean to me. I couldn't do this without you."

"Nonsense," Dorian said, injecting his tone full of confidence. He gestured for Maxwell to turn back around, and when he did, called up a grease spell. Slightly altered from its original purpose of slowing down foes, injecting a bit of heat into it made the smell palatable though somewhat plain. "You would have muddled through somehow without me."

"Oh, thank you," Maxwell said sarcastically. But he laughed.

Dorian listened to the shocked gasps as he drew a finger up the cleft of Maxwell's ass, finding his hole. The first time he did this with someone, he was on the bottom. He remembered a lot of pain from minimal preparation. From that night on, he learned how to do it himself, and quickly. Maxwell was tight and tense, and obviously inexperienced. But despite the contempt he felt for him, Dorian did not want to hurt him. Not in this, anyway. He thought he would miss Max when Corypheus finally killed him. Perhaps there was a small chance in keeping him alive. But was being a pet of the Venatori really better than death? Killing him would be more merciful in the end. He wouldn't have to see the world he failed to save.

Maxwell's breathing became slightly labored, a quiet prayer escaping his lips when Dorian found the small nub of nerves with his finger and stroked slowly. Keeping his free hand on his hip to prevent Maxwell from grinding into the mattress, he added a second finger. At the very least, Maxwell would know pleasure before he died. _A small death before death,_ Dorian thought, then quickly pushed it away. Lucanus and Servis were counting on him. It wouldn't do to get sentimental over something he had no control over. Soon the Red Templars would attack Denerim. The city would fall. The Inquisition would try to recoup the losses. More people would flee to Skyhold. Dorian wondered if the castle was prepared for a defense, or if the blueprints he sent out were enough for Corypheus to infiltrate it with minimal losses.

Another finger now and Maxwell buried his head in a second pillow, rocking his hips backward against Dorian's hand. Dorian, distracted, looked down at his own flaccid cock. Usually sex with Maxwell ended in mutual pleasure, one way or another. He'd been so focused on the days to come, not even the thought of fucking aroused him. He released Maxwell's hip to reach down and stroke himself, a tingle of electricity in his fingertips to force himself to hardness.

"Will it hurt?" Maxwell asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Just a bit. But then it won't," Dorian assured him. He dropped a kiss to the small of his back. "Trust me. And relax."

Dorian almost wished he talked as he continued to stretch Max, his own head filling with thoughts of the future. He whispered soft reassurances distractedly, slipping into Tevene as he spoke. Maxwell barely whimpered when he pushed slowly inside him, easing the passage with more of the plain lubrication. Hands warm, Dorian gripped his hips and slid home, giving them both a minute to adjust to the position. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, knowing this might be the first and last time he would lie with Maxwell this way, and felt the bitter taste of regret. Regret for what, he didn't know. Nor did he want to examine it too closely. He wanted to return to Lucanus, tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness. But he'd done nothing wrong. He did everything right.

"Dorian."

Max's voice startled him from his thoughts, and a rush of adrenaline made him feel sick. "Hm?"

"Could… you move a little?"

"Ah. My apologies. It's been awhile since… I promised you a wonderful night. Just relax," he said again, though he wasn't sure if it was an order for himself or for Maxwell.

He focused on the warm body underneath him, and started to move. Maxwell spoke little, gasps and whimpers and pleas and prayers to the Maker as Dorian fucked him. Dorian tried hard not to grip his hips too tightly, thinking he could likely make him bleed if he lost focus. The bed was sturdy, but the motion caused the headboard to knock slightly against the wall with their movements, and Dorian realized they'd left one of the glass doors open wide. Not that anyone could see them, but Maxwell was loud, begging him to go faster, harder. Dorian wondered if his voice carried, how many people heard him. How many knew he controlled the Inquisitor so thoroughly? How many cared? How many whispered nastily behind their hands as they passed?

_Doesn't matter,_ Dorian thought. _They're just pawns. They'll bow to Corypheus or they'll die. Lucanus will see to that._

"Dorian… Dorian, please…"

Dorian reached around, hand still slick from the grease spell, and stroked him quickly. It was hardly the most romantic or even the best of his lovemaking. But it was enough for Maxwell. Dorian felt him come, a muffled shout into the pillow. He gave two sharp thrusts for good measure before pulling out, a whispered grease spell to wet the backs of Maxwell's thighs in a facsimile of his own release. Seconds later, he was flaccid once more, the most disappointing round of lovemaking he thought he ever experienced. His mind was elsewhere, and while he was good enough to make sure Max was distracted from his own thoughts and responsibilities, he simply couldn't help but think about what was going to happen next. And soon.

"Are you all right, love?" Dorian asked, gently stroking his back. Maxwell was still face-down in the pillow, boneless, and likely half-asleep.

"Mmhm."

"That good?"

Maxwell peeked up at him, a blush to his cheeks. There were still dark circles under his eyes and he looked tired, but more relaxed than he had in some time. "It was really..." He chuckled. "Ugh. I'm a mess now."

"Don't. I'll take care of it." Dorian got up from the bed and walked to the washroom, just a small closeted area with a tub and a magically enchanted basin that refilled itself with clean water. He heated it with a spell and returned with a damp towel.

"Thank you."

Dorian managed a small smile as he set to cleaning Maxwell off. He helped remove the top sheet from bed and tossed the whole mess in a corner. "Feeling all right?"

"Yes. You?" Maxwell glanced up at him.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just glad I could do that for you." He leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

"Where… are you going somewhere?"

"Just for a walk," Dorian said, and started to dress. "But you sleep."

"I could go with you?" Maxwell asked, leaning up now.

Dorian laughed lightly. "No. Not after that. I doubt you'll be walking right for days. Get some rest. You need it."

"Was I bad?"

"What?" More laughter, but confused this time. _Maker, is he asking me how he was in bed? Is he that insecure?_

Maxwell was frowning, sitting up gingerly now. "At sex. Was I that bad that you have to run now?"

Dorian stared at him a moment, and wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation. "No. You were lovely." _Considering I did all the work._ "I truly just need a bit of fresh air." He crossed back to the bed, sat, and gathered Maxwell into his arms. "Sleep. Please."

"If you're sure everything is-"

"It's fine. I promise." He tilted Max's chin up and kissed him chastely. "Believe me?"

Maxwell nodded, smiling almost shyly. "I love you. You don't need to say it back. I just wanted to say it again."

"That's… thank you. One day I may get there." _Or not._ Feeling rather uncomfortable, Dorian kissed him again and left the room as quickly as propriety would allow.

_Now I think it's time for a drink._


	25. Chapter 25

They heard about Denerim a week later. Dorian was not privy to the war room debate, but he did wait outside the antechamber, and watched as Cullen stormed away, snapping at anyone who dared approach him. From across the throne room, he caught Varric's eye and the worried expression on his face. For his part, Dorian made sure not to smirk. Leliana came next, nose buried in a report as she hurried to send off birds, and then Cassandra, whose glare rivaled Cullen's. He waited just another minute before entering the antechamber, slipped past Josephine who was talking in a hushed tone to another of their scouts, and let himself into the war room where Max stood, hunched over the table.

"I passed Cassandra on the way in."

Max jumped and turned around. He frowned, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Dorian."

"What's going on?" He watched Maxwell turn back to the table. "Max?" For a moment, Dorian thought he would sweep the pieces from the table dramatically and declare it all useless. But if he knew one thing about the Inquisitor, it was that he wasn't really prone to dramatics.

"King Alistair is missing."

"Missing?" Dorian approached slowly.

Maxwell removed a piece from Denerim and set it aside, sighing. When he spoke, he sounded exhausted, his voice low but steady. "Red Templars took the city. Hundreds of them. Behemoths. Great, giant crystal things built like Qunari but bigger. Little things they call shadows that move quicker than a cat and go right for vulnerable spots. I can't…" He picked up one of the reports and tossed it aside, the papers fluttering to the ground. His shoulders rounded, head bowed, and he sighed again. "So many people died. Sappers took the walls and the heavy hitters did the rest."

Dorian stayed silent. An apology or commiseration would just sound patronizing or worse.

"The king wasn't counted among the dead, but our scouts don't believe he was taken captive. I only met him once, but Maker, he seemed like a good man. I've seen missives to Redcliffe. I want to ride out to speak with the Arl, but Cullen refused me." He clenched a fist. "I am not a child. I can take care of myself."

"Maxwell, listen to yourself."

Maxwell turned, angry. "I should not put my people into danger that I am not willing to face myself!"

"You're not a fighter," Dorian said plainly. "Cullen is right. You have your advisors for a reason. Send an envoy instead. I'll go."

"No. I want you here. I want… I'll send the Chargers." Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "I need you here, Dorian."

"I understand." And he did, in part. He would have felt better himself if Lucanus or Servis were here. But he could do this. It wouldn't be too much longer. "And if they find the same thing has happened in Redcliffe?"

"Then we turn to Orlais for help. They still have their army, despite the infighting. Maker, there was supposed to be a grand ball for that later this month. We may need to contact Empress Celene. But our letters aren't getting through to _her_ either. Josephine thought a spy might have been intercepting them. It's as if someone knows exactly where our runners are going to be and when."

Dorian wished he could've taken credit for that himself. While he aided in it, he knew that Corypheus had many other agents poking holes in the Inquisition's network. He was simply the most vital piece. "You think Empress Celene will help?"

"No. Not truly. But she will have to know that Orlais is next if Ferelden falls."

Dorian approach slowly and tentatively took Maxwell into his arms, pleased when he came. "They will have to put the civil war aside to help us deal with this."

"They have to. And if she doesn't listen, I'll throw my damned lot in with Gaspard."

"A military man, I've heard," Dorian said.

"Apparently he controls quite a bit of the country's chevaliers. An army like that, along with our own men would be formidable against the Red Templars."

"The Inquisition doesn't have enough soldiers right now?" Dorian asked, looking over Max's shoulder at the table.

"We would have. But our groups have stopped reporting. Camps on the Storm Coast were overrun. The Blades of Hessarian… turned up dead. Just this morning a report came in and…"

"But we saw those men rather recently," Dorian asked, not faking the surprise he felt. Samson's men were well-coordinated and moved quickly if they were able to take out the Blades of Hessarian so soon after he and Maxwell left their fort.

"I know. I should like to go out there as well, but-"

"You're needed here. There's nothing you can do for them now."

"Except pray," Maxwell agreed, and he touched the pendant of Andraste.

"Do you want me to pray with you?" Dorian asked. He thought it was a bit useless, but if it gave Maxwell a sense of comfort, he would do that to stay in his good graces. _Not too much longer._

"No, I need to talk to Bull. Get the Chargers sent out."

Dorian tried not to rankle at the idea. "And what would you have me doing? I want to help."

Maxwell left his embrace to shuffle papers, and pulled a letter from the pile. "Do you know Maevaris Tilani?"

"She was loosely acquainted with my father and Alexius. A magister." He knew Mae intimately, having stayed at her home in order to avoid returning to his, especially in his youth. Mae was much older than himself, and took the news of his sexuality easily, likely due to her own personal struggles. Thinking back on it, she likely knew before he did that he preferred men, and they had only one, deep conversation on the subject before moving on to other things. Such as drinking and fashion.

"She cites you by name, and has some disturbing news." Maxwell handed him the letter, which smelled faintly of rose oil.

Dorian read it over, taking in the knowledge of Venatori groups within the country. The Archon was still firmly on the fence about it, while the Chantry was opposed. No doubt, he thought, due to the idea that the Venatori were looking to change the way worship was carried out in Tevinter. The Chantry would miss their tithes if people decided to migrate to a new religion. Both the upper and lower house had several debates on the subject already, and the magisters were talking more loudly now of a new political faction within the Magisterium.

"Definitely troubling," he said, frowning. "Do you mean to help her?"

"She opposes the Venatori, just like Alexius does. I was thinking about sending him back-"

"He would be killed."

"-to Tevinter. What?" Maxwell frowned.

"Alexius used to _be_ a member of the Venatori. If you send him back now, when they seemed to be gaining ground in the country, how long do you think it will be before they find him and murder him?" Dorian actually found himself sincerely worried at this idea. He would have to make it a point to ask the elven spy in Orlais to convey his wishes about keeping Alexius alive. The thought of his former mentor being killed didn't sit well with him, despite their arguments.

"You have a point. But it's not as if I can spare the men to send them into Tevinter. And Nevarra… King Markus isn't going to send men either. We don't have the manpower or the connections. Leliana says she knows people in the Crows we could hire, but our coffers are low just trying to fund our own army. Josephine has sent a contract deal for the merchant princes, but Maker only knows if they're going to side with us. We might not be 'economically viable'."

"I do see the rock and the hard place between which you sit. But don't throw away Alexius's life simply because you're frustrated."

"I won't," Maxwell assured him. "I know what he means to you. I think he can do more good here at any rate. Will you excuse me? I need to talk to Bull."

"Of course. Dinner later?"

Maxwell offered a sad, apologetic smile. "Maybe. I'll likely have to work through it."

"I could accept that."

Max leaned up and kissed him softly. "Hopefully we'll sort this mess soon. Then I'll have more time."

Dorian cupped his cheek. "Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine in this." He took him firmly by the waist and kissed him properly, bending him back slightly over the table.

Maxwell allowed it only a moment, and pushed at his chest. "I don't have the time. I'm sorry." Another quick kiss and he was gone.

Dorian sighed and turned back to the table, contemplating the pieces. King Alistair missing or dead, Ferelden in upheaval. Maevaris asking for assistance with the Venatori. The Free Marches divided, and Antiva likely asking for money the Inquisition simply could not afford. Nevarra would remain neutral until it was too late. And Orlais, arguably the last great seat of power in Thedas, would fall soon. Just a few more weeks of this and he would be rewarded.

-

Maxwell found Bull sitting at a table upstairs in the tavern, talking with his Chargers. He gestured him over, not wanting to relay the information and request with too many ears listening, though he was sure the rumors would be around Skyhold in a matter of hours. Bull excused himself and followed Maxwell upstairs and into an unused tower full of broken and cracked boards, and old junk. Maxwell sat heavily on the dirty bed.

"What happened?" Bull asked, not even waiting to be addressed.

"Denerim's fallen to the Red Templars."

"...Shit."

"It gets worse. King Alistair is missing. We don't think he's dead, but he'll need help. The Storm Coast's becoming overrun. I'm sending men out that way but I don't think we can fight against this force. I have no idea where they all came from." He took a breath, feeling himself starting to panic. He'd only just held it together with Dorian, snapping and then feeling horribly guilty for it. For the first time since joining the Inquisition, he truly felt as if he wasn't prepared, and leaned more heavily now on his advisors than he'd ever done. "The next logical place he would head would be Redcliffe. If the coastal cities are being overrun, it's the last bastion for him."

"You want me to go out there?"

"No, I need you. We're going to have to entreat aid from Orlais and I want you with me. A show of force behind a strong negotiator, and Empress Celene will have to see reason."

"We hope," Bull said. "You want me to send my boys?"

Maxwell smiled gratefully. Bull always seemed to know what he needed. "Yes. Please. But tell them not to take risks. We have no idea what Redcliffe looks like at the moment. We… we're losing camps all around Ferelden. I hate to think what the Hinterlands looks like. Maker, I just hope we had enough people to keep the refugees safe."

"Boss, breathe." Bull stepped forward and crouched down, hand on his knee. "It's just a city and a few camps. We'll rally and get it back."

"I know. But Cullen isn't hopeful."

"Cullen's great. He's led templars and this Inquisition's army flawlessly. But he also was locked in towers most of his life. Hasn't seen a war yet. As shitty as Kirkwall was, that was just a couple of fights stretched out over a few years."

"War." Maxwell took a breath.

"Yeah, boss. We're at war. Corypheus, the Red Templars, Venatori. Whole lot of bastards, but we'll show 'em. They bleed, they die. Right?" Bull took his shoulder and gave it a little shake.

Maxwell nodded. "Right."

"You're doing fine."

"Am I?"

"There are setbacks in everything. We'll find King Alistair, get Denerim back, and then we'll make the bastards pay."

"I wish I had your confidence." But Maxwell managed a smile. "Bull, can you… would you send word to the Qunari? Just in case we need a little - never mind," he cut off, feeling extremely uncomfortable. It was his fault that Bull was marked as Tal-Vashoth after all.

"I'll ask," Bull said graciously. "But don't expect much. I'm sure they still have spies all over the place, but I don't think-"

"Sorry."

"Hey. Don't worry about it. We talked that out already, right?"

Maxwell shrugged. "Yes. I suppose."

"You got the world on your shoulders right now, boss. Don't take that too. You made the call, but ultimately it was my decision."

"I couldn't let the Chargers-"

"Stop."

Maxwell looked at him. He'd seen Bull angry before, but this wasn't anger. He still heard the pain in his tone, and nodded. "I will. I'm… well, never mind." They stood together, and Maxwell reached up, a hand on his arm. "Let me know how it goes in Redcliffe. And I'll keep you informed about Orlais."

"Sure thing." Bull frowned, obviously hesitating with something, and then asked, "How are you and the Vint?"

"Dorian."

"That's what I said."

Maxwell chuckled, and was thankful for that. "We're… really good."

"So long as he's treating you well."

"He is. I promise."

Bull clapped him carefully on the arm and squeezed. "I'll come find you once my boys get out there to report. Go take a nap or something. You look like shit."

The laughter was more pronounced, and Maxwell felt the stress leech from his shoulders. "No rest for the wicked."

That got him a look. "If that were true, you'd be sleeping like a baby every night. The first person who describes you as wicked is being paid to lie to your face. Or they're just an asshole."

"You say the nicest things."

"Yeah well. Maybe you should listen."

Maxwell ducked his head, smiling, and Bull's large hand trailed the path from his arm to cup his cheek. He looked back up at him, and suddenly felt a little warm. "I've got to go. Things to do."

"You take care, boss," Bull said, letting his hand drop.

With a nod, Maxwell left, intent on seeking Cullen out to explain the new courses of action they would take in Ferelden.


	26. Chapter 26

Servis hated admitting being impressed with anyone. Most of all Livius Erimond. While they weren't exactly rivals, Erimond did enjoy throwing his successes in Servis's face. And while Servis was quite positive he could show up most of the other magisters and indeed, the majority of the Venatori, he preferred staying out of the limelight. It was difficult to always feel that way, however, when Erimond brought these successes to his attention and insisted on gloating. Which is what he was doing now.

"I'm not so sure a demon-infested palace is something I would take pride in, Livius," Servis said, pacing the length of the ornate office. It was draped in purple and gold, crests of the Valmont lion hanging everywhere. In all it was very tacky, and Servis wondered if Erimond was going to redecorate.

"But just listen to the screams, Crassius!" Erimond threw the windows open wide, then closed them at once, the storm raging outside threatening to soak the rich carpet and velvet drapes. "Well, there were screams earlier but you missed them."

"As I've only just arrived in the capital, I was hoping to be given a tour, rather than a lesson in gratuitous boasting."

Erimond snorted. "Jealousy is not a good look on you, my dear man."

Servis fought against the frown and instead forced himself to smile. "As you say. And Empress Celene?"

"Florianne took care of her. It was just a matter of coordinating the demon attack. Grey Wardens are stationed all around the capital with their thralls. And Clarel is leading a pack to take over the other major cities along the Imperial Highway. Before too long, Val Chevin, Lydes, Verchiel. They'll all fall. Halamshiral is the last bastion of rebels. Freemen of the Dales, I believe. The group is anti-Inquisition so they might be allowed to stay so long as they don't fight us. And Florianne thinks her brother is heading east out of the country."

Servis waved a hand. Orlesian geography was lost on him. He simply wondered where and when their agent would be meeting Dorian. How the elf moved so quickly across the countries… Well, he supposed that's what being a good spy was all about, after all. The information Dorian carried was paramount to their continued success. And according to the word from Samson, his Red Templars as good as conquered Ferelden. Not that it was all that difficult. Not if the Orlesians managed it nearly a century ago. Fereldan's king was supposed to have been some great hero. Probably dead now. But none of that was truly important. What he was wondering of course, was about the spoils. _To the victor, et cetera._ Surely there were many homes left behind when the nobles ran screaming or refused to bow to their new rulers. Of course a majority of the gold would go to the Venatori's coffers to support the war effort. But Orlais was full of riches. If one or two or a dozen little pieces went missing, no one would be the wiser.

"How many chevaliers does he have? More importantly, can Clarel handle them?"

"The Freemen are likely going to pick them off, but I assure you, Clarel is prepared. And even if Gaspard finds a way to slip the noose, what can one man do?"

 _You'd be surprised,_ Servis thought, but didn't say. Instead, he cleared his throat and forced another smile. Why he was putting on airs for Erimond, he would never know. The man was probably the closest thing he had to a friend and, sadly, vice versa. The only problem was that Erimond annoyed him. A lot. But the least out of all his other associates. 

Servis pulled one of the gold lion plaques from the walls. "I'd like to tour the capital. Make a note of the valuables left behind and have them removed to Tevinter for the Venatori there. They can melt down the gold and use it for trade with the dwarves or whatever else. Demons might not require food, but soldiers do." He paused, wondering if the same was true for Red Templars. Did lyrium abominations eat? He shut down that line of thinking with a shudder.

Erimond looked at him quizzically. "And this has nothing to do with your magpie like tendencies?"

"I resent that." He didn't collect pieces. He sold them. "Send one of your lackeys if you so wish." Servis knew he wouldn't. While they might not like one another, there was a small enough modicum of trust. At least, Erimond trusted him to take only the pieces that wouldn't be missed. If he sent someone else a rather large chunk might go missing. Then there would be investigations, beheadings or hangings… all very much a waste of time and effort.

"Very well," Erimond said, turning away to look out the window. The gale continued, the sky dark save for the occasional bolt of lightning. He glanced back at him. "But do not forget that _I_ took Val Royeaux, Servis. If you want me to put in a good word to the Elder One-"

Servis turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring Erimond's protestations that he wasn't finished. The doors shut behind him and he nodded to Silvius, who was waiting patiently for him.

"Gather the men. We have work to do," he ordered.

With the thoughts of potential profit on his mind now, Servis smiled genuinely for the first time that day.

-

Dorian wasn't sure where they were. He made it a point to avoid Orlais in his travels. Their ongoing animosity with his homeland aside, they didn't take a favorable view on mages. And while upper class Tevinter mages _could_ travel outside the country, the paperwork involved was rather ridiculous. Antiva and Rivain had less stringent requirements, hence his holidays took place in the east rather than the south. But they were most definitely in Orlais now, and nothing evidenced that more than the fact that they were now surrounded by chevaliers on horses, swords and spears pointed directly at them.

Maxwell held up his hands. "We're from the Inquisition on our way to a peace talk with Empress Celene."

Dorian knew at once the Empress was already dead. The men looked at one another uneasily, their horses slightly unsettled by their riders' discomfort. He stood behind Maxwell, hoping these chevaliers didn't decide to turn unfriendly. Himself, Maxwell, Bull, and a dozen Inquisition soldiers were hardly a match for armed and armored soldiers. Despite his dislike of Orlais, he did have to acknowledge that their chevaliers were some of the best trained men in all of Thedas.

"Come with us, monsieur," one of the men said, and they had no choice but to follow and they were shepherded off the path and into the forest.

The trees opened into a lush clearing about a mile off the road. Dozens of men and women, some in armor and some not, milled around the camp. Dorian didn't see any tents, but several wagons and pack animals, and the scent of meat roasting on a fire reached his nose. Two small fires were built so as to keep the smoke to a minimum, and the conversation was hushed. The chevaliers dispersed, some back the way they came, the rest to other parts of the forest. The man who spoke climbed off his horse and tied the reins to a cart before approaching someone in rather shiny, but well-worn armor.

Dorian missed the flurry of Orlesian that followed, but caught the man's name and title. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. The man who would have become Emperor of Orlais. A fair bit of politicking put his cousin on the throne instead, and she was a formidable foe. _Was,_ Dorian thought, being the key word. Which he assumed they were about to find out now. Gaspard stood, brushing his hands off on his leather trousers which were muddy from the shins down, and approached.

"Inquisitor," he said with a thick Orlesian accent, sounding tired. He looked it, too.

"Grand Duke Gaspard," Maxwell returned, and they shook hands. "We were hoping to receive more information about the grand ball at Halamshiral when communications were abruptly ended. Is this how you treat a potential ally?"

"My most grievous apologies, Inquisitor. To have to be the bearer of the somber news."

"What news?" Maxwell asked, frowning.

"Val Royeaux has fallen."

There was a smattering of murmurs among the Inquisition soldiers, and Dorian saw the Iron Bull in his peripheral vision shift uncomfortably.

"What do you mean? Fallen how? To whom?"

"It was a treacherous move by my sister, Florianne." He sighed. "That is not how I would have wanted to win the war. But she did not do it for me. We fled the capital two days before we were to have left for Halamshiral. From there, I was to send you word. I have sent messengers but I assume they were intercepted." He shook his head sadly.

"Can't we just take it back?" Maxwell asked, unfortunately showing his ignorance of military might. "How many chevaliers do you have here? The Inquisition's armies will join you."

"Ah if only it were that easy. My chevaliers remain loyal to me. The ones that fled with me were loyal to Celene and now they are mine. But my sister has something much more dangerous on her side than mere soldiers."

Maxwell's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Demons," Gaspard said. He crossed his arms, but to Dorian it seemed more like he was comforting himself. "A dozen of those Fade rifts opened and demons poured out of them."

"But… surely they would have attacked her," Maxwell said. "Was she controlling them? I was under the impression Orlais had no mages left. They all fled the capital, didn't they?"

"Difficult to say what happened to the mages of the White Spire after the rebellion. There was one faction of Loyalists-"

"Madame de Fer," Maxwell said. "I met with her. She declined to join once she learned I'd offered the rebel mages a full alliance."

Gaspard spread his hands in a gesture of nonchalance, but Dorian watched his face. From his cheeks down, a tanned, weathered color. Upward, pale and smooth skin. The mark of an Orlesian half-mask that was worn quite often, and he was without it now. It made him terribly easy to read, and behind his seemingly unaffable nature, he was extremely worried.

"So if it wasn't the mages-"

"Grey Wardens."

"Shit." This from Bull, and Maxwell looked at him, at a loss for words.

"I don't… I don't understand," Maxwell said, trying to wrap his head around the news. "Why would the Grey Wardens summon demons to take over Orlais?"

"There are theories, Inquisitor. But right now we are simply trying to regroup. Templar stragglers, my chevaliers, and a few personal guardsmen of nobles across the Dales will not be enough to take back the capital. We need your assistance. If you assist me, you have my loyalty. This promise I make you as a chevalier of Orlais."

Maxwell swallowed, looking somewhat terrified, a pained expression on his face. "We were coming to you because of what's transpiring in Denerim."

Gaspard's expression hardened at once. Whether it was in preparation for the bad news he was about to receive, or the mention of Ferelden, Dorian wasn't sure. "Pray tell."

"It's fallen. Red Templars. We've sent men out to gather reports, but my camps are falling all over the northern coastline. We can't hold the country without help."

"If Orlais is gone," Bull said, "and Ferelden went not too long ago, it was a synchronized pincer move. Probably to get to Skyhold."

Maxwell went white as a sheet, and Bull grabbed him under the arm quickly. Waving him off, Maxwell sat down heavily on a stump. "Maker have mercy," he whispered.

"You gotta make a decision, boss," Bull said.

Dorian scowled. "Why? Because he's the Inquisitor?"

Bull rounded on him. "You want both countries to fall, you don't pick a side. You want a fighting chance, you rally your troops."

"So either we give up Ferelden or we leave Orlais to chaos? Brilliant plan! They should've put you in charge instead."

"Dorian," Maxwell said. "Stop. He's right."

Dorian glared at him. He didn't appreciate being told he was wrong, and in front of everyone. _And to think I actually might have had affection for you._ "Very well. Who are you condemning to death, then?"

"Ferelden doesn't have the manpower we need. If Denerim was overrun and King Alistair is missing, then we need to rally our troops behind Orlais."

It was a stupid, impulsive decision, Dorian thought. One made because the next of kin and rightful heir to the throne of Orlais was standing in front of him. _Not that any of it matters. It'll all be set ablaze in the weeks to come._

"Come to Skyhold," Maxwell said to Gaspard, standing. "Come to Skyhold and we'll rally our forces. I'll recall my men from Ferelden and we'll reclaim Orlais."

Bull muttered something that sounded like, "Fighting fucking demons," and crossed his arms, eye fixed on the ground.

Gaspard nodded. "We will pull camp and be ready to march within the hour."

"I expect I'll see you on the road."

"Take care, Inquisitor," Gaspard said, grasping his hand. "May the Maker watch over you."

"And you."

 _He's doing a bang up job as it is,_ Dorian thought, and followed Maxwell and the others from camp. Maxwell didn't seem inclined to talk to him, and he was fine with that. With any luck, the elf from the Storm Coast would show up during their travels, and he could relay this new information. Ferelden, it seemed, would be theirs. As for Orlais… well, he wasn't entirely sure what two broken armies and a handful of mercenaries could do against a horde of demons.

 _I suppose,_ he thought, _we'll find out._


	27. Chapter 27

The mood upon returning to Skyhold was somber. Maxwell sought Leliana out at once to relay the bad news, and they spoke quietly about their next move regarding Orlais.

"I'm going to send Blackwall and Sera to Ferelden," Maxwell said, a decision he'd made on the road. "If the Grey Wardens are being used by Corypheus, I don't want to put him in danger. And Sera can watch his back. The Chargers will need all the help they can get. If we can at least hold the Red Templars at bay in the Hinterlands, it's one less area to defend after we reclaim Orlais."

"Very good, Inquisitor." She paused. "I have received a letter from the Hero of Ferelden."

"He's alive?" Maxwell's chest tightened in anticipation. The first bit of good news in some time. It was welcome. "Where is he? Will he come to Skyhold?"

She shook her head. "He is with King Alistair somewhere in Ferelden. The scout that brought the letter was near death when he reached the valley. He's resting now, but we're afraid he won't make it, even with our healers."

Maxwell frowned. It was unfortunate that they wouldn't be joining the Inquisition, but good that they were alive. He said a silent prayer to the Maker for the poor messenger. "If your scouts can get to them, have them meet the Chargers in Redcliffe. If it's still standing," he sighed. "We need to devise a plan to infiltrate Val Royeaux-"

The door to the war room opened and Josephine hurried in, looking extremely distressed. "Inquisitor-"

"What is it?"

"I've just had a report. Several notable Orlesian families have just declared… for Corypheus."

"WHAT?" Maxwell felt his stomach twist, and he leaned against the map table, knees slightly weak. "Why? Who?"

She started to name them, then stopped. "That's not important. They saw the power he wields and decided to…" She cleared her throat politely. "Back the winning horse."

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "When did you find this out?"

"Less than an hour ago. They are calling themselves a coalition for peace. Corypheus has promised them their lands and holdings if they pledged their loyalty."

"Get me a copy of that list," Leliana said, her voice a hard edge.

"Yes, of course."

"And our allies?" Maxwell said. "The ones who were siding with us. Did they defect? Are they-"

Josephine looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I have reports of many families who… did not survive the sacking of the city."

Maxwell closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening. "And our allies who made it are likely scattered to the wind, or already with us."

"It would seem that way, my lord."

"Don't," he said, opening his eyes to look at her. "Please don't call me that. I need to-"

The door opened with such force, it bounced off the wall, and Cassandra caught its rebound, looking murderous. "Good. You are all here."

"Cassandra," Maxwell breathed, feeling slightly relieved. "Thank the Maker."

"Do not be so quick to thank Him just yet. We've only just started to realize how deep a hole we are in." She walked to the table and began rearranging forces. "Cullen is talking to the Grand Duke at the moment. There is no way to fight a two front war. However," she moved a few more pieces to Skyhold, representing the chevaliers they obtained, "we can defend ourselves here, and use our position to launch the attack to push west." She looked up at him. "You are set on reclaiming Orlais?"

He looked first at Leliana, who held his gaze only briefly before averting her eyes. Josephine made a few notes, avoiding him also. It was his decision alone, then. Inhaling sharply, he nodded.

"Good. If we can sway the capital back to our side, it will be easier to reclaim the rest of the country."

"Will they rejoin us?" Maxwell asked. "They were only too happy to switch sides when things got difficult." He knew it was deeper than that, but he was frustrated and angry, and felt betrayed.

"Then they will switch back just as easily with a show of force," Cassandra said. "Cullen wanted to speak with you, to map out plans with the Grand Duke. He is in his office."

Maxwell nodded. "All right. I… Do you have things here?"

Cassandra reached out and gripped his arm. "We will make it through this, Maxwell. The Maker will guide your hand, and we will be the might behind it."

Maxwell took comfort in her reassurance. "Carry on then. I want regular reports from all of you." _For what good it will do,_ he thought, but didn't say as marched from the war room. People clamored for his attention as he passed and he waved them off apologetically, hurrying toward Cullen's office. He caught a familiar face in passing. "Blackwall!"

Blackwall, who was talking with a group of soldiers, turned. "Inquisitor?"

"I need you a moment. Walk with me." Maxwell waited for Blackwall to excuse himself, and they walked toward Cullen's office together. "I sent the Chargers off to Redcliffe to bring back word from Ferelden. The king is alive and likely trapped behind enemy lines. You know Ferelden well, so I want you to take Sera and anyone you might find useful. Keep it small and bring a runner with you. Meet up with the Chargers. We need the king alive and safe."

"I understand," Blackwall agreed. "How are you holding up?"

Maxwell shook his head, feeling sick. Too many lives were in his hands. He wasn't ready for this. But he would do his best to rise to the occasion. Only he wished he had his brothers with him now. They were trained for these situations. But he would trust in his advisors, and the Maker. "I'll be fine." He clapped Blackwall on the shoulder. "Keep safe. And return to us when you find him."

"Aye, we will, Inquisitor. And you."

"I'll be fine. I have a castle surrounding me." He gave a meek smile, and Blackwall nodded once before turning back the way he came. Maxwell jogged up the stone steps toward Cullen's tower, feeling a bit craven. How could he ask these people to risk their lives when he was just sitting in Skyhold, issuing orders? But to stand at the head of an army? To direct troops? He felt like he could train for decades and still not be ready for something like that. Cullen was going to go in his stead.

"Inquisitor," Cullen said, bent over his desk, looking at maps. Gaspard was at his side, gloved hand gesturing animatedly at the mountains. They both straightened as Maxwell entered, a handful of soldiers gathered around. "We've formulated a plan of attack. A vanguard for distraction while our sappers infiltrate the side gate. Once inside, we'll be able to add to a full frontal assault."

Maxwell nodded, at least understanding what he was being told. "You might meet resistance within the city, Commander."

"We know. Corypheus's Venatori-"

"No," Maxwell cut him off. "Josephine's had bad news. Nobles declaring for Corypheus." He winced as the soldiers in the room turned toward one another, a murmur of anxious whispering. He should have dismissed them before saying anything. Though it wasn't as if the word wouldn't spread.

Gaspard's shoulders dropped and he covered his face with a hand, sighing. The stance of a defeated man. Cullen, however, looked livid.

"How could they _possibly_ side with that monster?"

"They were dying, Cullen. The Venatori destroyed their homes. To save themselves, their families? They would do anything. That doesn't mean we give up though, right?" Maxwell stepped up and rapped his knuckles on the table. He looked around at the soldiers. "We get Val Royeaux back, then the rest of Orlais. And we _keep_ fighting Coyrpheus and his armies until we win, and we defeat him once and for all, right?"

The anxious whispers turned to mutters of assent.

"What's the plan?" Maxwell asked, leaning in.

They would take the city back, and he would be there. For moral support if nothing else. And at any rate, he thought, someone needed to close those rifts.


	28. Chapter 28

_"It's about time you showed up."_

_The elven spy shrugged, eyes crinkling into a smile or a smirk. It was hard to tell with his half-mask covering his nose and mouth. It was the dead of night, and Dorian awoke to a gentle dripping of water on his forehead. He thought it was rain at first, and knew they should've put up the tents, but the sky above was clear. Then he realized it was Servis's agent, and left his spot next to Maxwell to meet the elf outside the clearing._

_"Servis's orders are to sit tight. Someone will collect you from Skyhold when they're ready for you. Then you'll travel to Tevinter where you'll be rewarded for your loyalty."_

_"That's it?" Dorian asked. "There's nothing more to it?"_

_"That's it."_

_Dorian frowned. "Do you think that I could make a request?"_

_The elf raised an eyebrow. "A request?"_

_"My mentor. Alexius. I'd like him taken alive. Brought to Tevinter with us." Dorian knew it was a long shot. But it wasn't as if he was asking them to spare Maxwell. He knew that if Corypheus wanted him dead, he would kill him. And while the Inquisitor did irritate him, all the things he stood for and his future plans, there was a part of him that would be upset to see him killed. Of course, one couldn't become that close with someone, experience the intimacy of sharing a bed, sharing a life, and not feel some regret._

_"I'll bring it to Servis's attention, but no promises."_

_"I understand."_

And that was that. Dorian stared at the glass of wine in his hand, feeling somewhat left out. Maxwell was in meetings all day. Everyone, it seemed, had an assignment. Except for him. He wondered if he would be ordered to go with the soldiers marching on Val Royeaux. Or if he would be told to stay behind. He was a battle mage, for Andraste's sake. He excelled in the inferno specialization and he had talents in necromancy. Every dead soldier could be raised again to fight. He was useful. But then, he supposed, he would rather be fighting for Lucanus and Servis than the Inquisitor. His talents were better put to use in the Venatori.

"You're sad."

Dorian looked up. Cole was standing over him. They rarely spoke. Cole seemed to prefer being away from him, and no doubt as to why. "Am I? Here I merely thought I was bored. Why are you in my room?"

"Your thoughts brought me to you."

"Oh? And what number am I thinking of?"

"Three."

Dorian scoffed. "As you say."

"It's the number you think of when you think of him."

"The Inquisitor? Well if I was rating his competency in bed or on a battlefield, I suppose-"

"Friend and father, like a family. Four makes mother, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiles, laughing at something I said. Not like Mother. Wonder if he knows how lucky he is, the brother I never had. His name means lucky, he truly is."

Dorian's chest tightened at once, the glass of wine slipping through his fingers and shattering on the wooden floor. "Stop it."

"But you like thinking about Felix. You miss him. And his mother. They treated you like family, more than your own family."

"I said _stop_ ," Dorian growled. He would bleed himself and banish this creature if he had to.

But Cole didn't. Instead, he sat on the bed next to Dorian, and took his hand. "I've been thinking of ways to help you, but it's so hard. The truth is tangled in the lies. The lies are pretty, but useless, like sparkling diamonds on a pair of leather shoes. They mask what's underneath."

Dorian tried to pull his hand away, but Cole held tightly. Panic started to slowly overtake him, a heat in his stomach rising into his chest, into his head. He couldn't breathe. It felt like he was choking, or even drowning. "STOP IT!"

"I'm not doing anything. This is you. You know what's going to happen. You don't want to let it happen. You're better than they told you that you are."

"No! No, no, no," Dorian said, and he started to laugh, wrenching his hand away. He stood quickly and started to pace. "You don't know a thing about me, spirit. Just because you can get inside my head and pull out old memories, you think _that_ Dorian is the same one I am now. I _am_ better. And I am going to prove it by delivering the Inquisitor to Corypheus on a silver platter and there is not a damn thing you can do about it!" He removed a knife from his belt. "Go. Or I will make you go."

Cole stood, fingers twisting together anxiously. "He wishes you would come to him. Not the Inquisitor. The one you called father when your own father hurt you."

Before Dorian could order him again, or even bring the knife across his palm, Cole was gone. Dorian pocketed his knife, took several deep breaths to calm himself, and took up the bottle of wine. Glass ruined now, he took several deep swigs directly from the bottle, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. There was no need for decorum. Not right now. Now, he was going to drink himself into a stupor and forget about the day. And perhaps in the morning, Maxwell would finally have a use for him.

-

Midnight approached and Dorian woke in a drunken haze. More tipsy, he thought, as he stood and drained the dregs of the bottle. He rubbed his eyes, smudging the kohl which had been carefully applied earlier, and ran a comb through his hair. Vanity forced him to clean up the edges of his appearance a little before he stepped out into the chilly evening. Still no Maxwell in sight. And his tower room, visible from everywhere in Skyhold, was dark. Likely he was still in the war room, or perhaps taking a brief nap before returning the battle planning. Not that they would actually get to use any of it. Corypheus would be upon them soon.

Cole's words rang in his ears, irritating and distracting him. As much as the spirit unnerved him, he did want to see Alexius. He might not have another chance to talk to him. If Corypheus spared him and took him to Tevinter, Alexius might never want to talk to him again. That thought bothered him more than anything else in the past few months.

_Why should it? He picked the wrong side. He's the traitor!_

Dorian stumbled as he continued the walk from his room to Alexius's, and knocked loudly when he arrived. Only the propriety ingrained in him from a young age kept him from barging into the room. He listened for the fumbling inside, and Alexius opened the door, knotting the tie of his robe. Dorian frowned, his foggy brain working on his thoughts.

"I woke you up."

"Dorian? Is everything all right?"

"You would ask that."

As the rest of the castle was quiet, Alexius assessed no immediate danger, and ushered Dorian inside, closing the door and latching it. He lit the candle on his nightstand, and Dorian allowed himself to be pushed to the bed while Alexius built the fire back up.

"I was sleeping. Then I wasn't. I was thinking about you and how good you've been to me."

Alexius glanced over his shoulder at Dorian, and sighed. He filled a glass from the water jug on a side table and handed it to him. Dorian sipped slowly.

"Do you need an elixir?" Alexius asked, touching Dorian's forehead. "Maker's breath, my boy. How much did you drink?"

Dorian shrugged. "A bottle or two? Possibly more. I wanted to see you."

"Well, here I am," Alexius said, taking the cup back. He rifled through his drawers and quickly mixed up a few herbs. "Something you wanted to tell me in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning?"

"I never told my father that I love him."

Alexius frowned. He dropped the herbs into the water, then held the cup over his palm, which filled with a low flame. "He knows. All fathers know."

"Felix always told you, though. He was a good son." Dorian frowned, feeling awkward now. Not even the buzz from the wine could take away his embarrassment and shame entirely. 

"You," Alexius said, swirling the cup, "are a good son. Halward's always had a hard time swallowing his pride, but he does love you." He handed Dorian the cup. "Drink."

Dorian drank dutifully, wincing at the peppermint taste. It would clear his head and ensure he didn't have a hangover in the morning. "You've always looked out for me. For as long as I've known you."

"You were wasting your potential."

"And now?"

Alexius sat on the bed next to him. "Now I think you're living up to it. I also think you have a lot more ahead of you." He reached up and brushed back a few strands of hair from Dorian's forehead.

Dorian leaned into the touch, and ended up with his cheek pressed against Alexius's shoulder. "I miss home." He felt Alexius wrap an arm around him, and took comfort from the embrace. "Do you?"

"Every day," Alexius admitted. "Perhaps when this is over I'll be permitted to return. Status or no, my assets remain. I could retire to the countryside."

"Raise goats?"

Alexius chuckled. "More like grapes. A nice vineyard to produce my own wine where I can spend my evenings reading and getting drunk."

"I should very much like to join you."

"You would be welcome. You always are."

Dorian wanted to say more. To thank him again, perhaps to ask him for help. To warn him what was coming. After all, Alexius cared about Tevinter as much as he did. He wanted to preserve it. They could discuss the importance of education and the reform that was necessary while the other Venatori worried about armies and whatever else their concerns were. But before he could even open his mouth to speak again, he fell asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

"How much sleep have you gotten in the last week?" Dorian asked, leaning against the open doorway of the war room. He watched Maxwell moving pieces, consulting his notes, and looking rather haggard.

"More than Cullen. We're leaving tonight. Maybe I'll convince him to sleep on the way. Gaspard's already twenty-four hours gone with the vanguard and most of our forces are on the road already. I'm packing soon. Are you ready?"

Dorian spread his hands. "Are you sure you want me there?"

Maxwell looked up at him, a pained expression on his face. "Please don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The guilt trip. I can't handle it right now. I know I've been neglectful. I just-"

"You haven't said a single word to me in two days," Dorian said, and he tried to keep the annoyance from his tone. "It's not about affection or intimacy. Though I regret having been denied those. You're utilizing everyone except me."

"You're coming with me. I thought that was obvious," Maxwell said, confused. "I need you at my side. Besides, I haven't sent Solas out on anything either. Though I should bring him with us… he's gained control of the rifts even if he can't close them. Or maybe he should stay here, since I need-"

"Inquisitor!"

Dorian sighed and stepped aside for the scout who jogged up the hall.

"What's wrong?" Maxwell asked immediately, which was telling of his emotional and mental state.

"Nothing sir," the scout said. "The Champion of Kirkwall's arrived. And… he brought people with him."

Maxwell picked up his cloak from where it was draped over a chair and waved the scout on. He stopped in the doorway and kissed Dorian chastely on the lips. "Come with me to meet them."

"Of course. I am but an adornment upon your arm."

Maxwell sighed, looked as if he wanted to say something, and merely walked away. Dorian wondered bitterly if Maxwell would notice if he didn't follow like an obedient puppy. Of course, he realized he was probably being unfair about this, considering it was largely _his_ fault everything was happening. The unfortunate result was a lover who barely had any time for him anymore. Regardless of his own feelings – after all, he would be sitting very pretty in Tevinter soon with a bevy of lovers from which to choose – he followed Maxwell out and down to the courtyard.

Quite a few people were already assembled, and Dorian recognized Hawke, standing rather taller than the rest. His dark, shaggy hair was slightly damp, full beard just as Dorian remembered. He had a scar that bisected his left eye that ran down into his beard, and Dorian wondered if that was a result of the Red Templar attack or something older. Next to him stood a silent figure in a cloak, hood pulled up to hide his face, a golden staff with a relief of Andraste atop it. Behind them, a dozen more people in hoods, half with staves, all looking around rather warily. Maxwell greeted Hawke warmly with a two handed handshake. He glanced at the hooded figure, and Hawke gestured at the entrance to the throne room.

"Let's get inside," Maxwell agreed. "It's likely going to rain again. Not that it'll matter soon since the rest of my forces will be marching in it. Hawke, you might remember Dorian?"

"Vaguely," Hawke said. "No offense to you," he added to Dorian. "Being beaten to a bloody pulp doesn't do too many good things for the short term memory."

"None taken," Dorian replied easily. "You're looking much better than last time."

"And _not_ being beaten to a bloody pulp works wonders for that."

Dorian saw the hooded figure next to Hawke slip a gloved hand into his. _The apostate lover, then._ This, he realized, was about to get interesting.

Maxwell led them into the throne room, clearing the hall with an efficient order. The side door opened, and from it emerged Varric and Solas, who were clearly in the middle of a discussion or an argument judging from their tones. Varric cut off mid-sentence and there was a second of confused silence before he realized his friend had returned. Dorian watched them shake hands, Varric clapping Hawke on the shoulder. And then the apostate – Anders – lowered his hood. His long blond hair was swept back into a ponytail, a day or two worth of scruff on his face. He lacked the physical scars that Hawke had, but seemed to carry ones that ran deeper than skin. And when Varric looked at him the smile that appeared at seeing Hawke slid right off his face. Dorian wondered at their history.

Hawke placed his hand on the small of Anders' back as they greeted each other - just names, no warm handshakes, no claps on the shoulders - and Maxwell hurried to introduce Solas, who shook hands all around. Dorian saw Anders' eyes flick from Solas's face to his staff, and his tense stance relaxed somewhat. Dorian thought he could understand that. Camaraderie among fellow mages. It was a shame they would all be dead or imprisoned soon. He waited while Maxwell made sure everyone had a seat and slid into a chair to him, his rightful place. They didn't stay seated for long, however, when the throne room doors opened once more. Dorian never thought he'd get used to the clanking of plate metal.

"Cullen," Maxwell said, "what's the meaning of-"

Cullen looked murderous, mouth set in a hard line, eyes narrowed. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Clearly, Dorian realized, someone informed the commander that the apostate who blew up his chantry was now at Skyhold. Apparently the goodwill that Hawke brought with him, the information and maybe even people that he could provide, did not extend to his explosion-happy lover. Feeling somewhat removed from the situation, he remained seated. He wasn't the only one enjoying the drama, he realized. Solas, who hadn't taken a seat and was instead leaning against the wall, silently watched the situation unfold.

Hawke stepped in front of Anders at once, one hand on his sword in a similar stance to Cullen's. "We're here to help."

"Inquisitor," Cullen entreated, "you don't want to ally yourself with him. Do you? The allies we have-"

"They _are_ our allies, Commander," Maxwell said, his voice a hard edge. Lack of sleep and an abundance of stress were wearing on him. "And right now I don't give a damn what our other allies think about us reaching out for help from anyone who wants to give it. Do you really think that the King of Ferelden is going to care who helps him reclaim his country? That the Grand Duke will recall all his men simply because Hawke and Anders were good enough to see the greater threat at stake?"

Cullen's hand moved from his sword, but his glare didn't disappear. "This is a bad idea, Inquisitor."

"No, Cullen," Maxwell said, purposefully leaving off his title, "turning away allies in the time of our greatest need is a bad idea. I have deferred to you on many things, but even you can't deny that we need any help we can get."

Dorian watched a muscle in Cullen's cheek twitch, as if he dared to contradict Maxwell. He almost wished Cullen would, just to see the fallout. Maxwell was too quiet, too nice. It was intriguing to see him coming apart at the seams, cursing - albeit mildly - and getting angry. Cullen seemed to realize the change in the normally calm demeanor as well, and nodded.

"Of course, Inquisitor."

"Please tell Bull I need him here," Maxwell said, a soft superiority in his tone as he gave the order. "And be ready to march with your remaining men in no more than two hours."

Cullen gave a sharp salute and turned on his heel, his men following him back out of the throne room, doors shutting behind them.

"As you were saying," Maxwell said, gesturing for them to sit, and taking his own after.

Dorian noticed Hawke's hand did not leave Anders' back as he spoke.

"We've been gathering people since the College of Magi voted to secede from the Chantry. Circles everywhere were being attacked by templars, runaway mages-"

Anders cut him off. "Those too young to survive on their own, or ones who never learned how to fend for themselves. Not just mages, either."

Hawke nodded. "Villages were burned indiscriminately throughout the Free Marches, Antiva, and Rivain. Alienages rose up after word of Empress Celene's actions at Halamshiral." The way Hawke said her name, Dorian doubted he was losing sleep over the knowledge of her death. "We have skilled artisans, battle mages, and warriors."

"Shit, Hawke," Varric said quietly. "Is that what you've been doing?"

"Don't bother writing a book on it," Hawke said. "It was Anders' idea."

Anders' lips nearly curved into a smile before the morose expression returned. "We have people who are willing to pledge themselves to your cause. To stop Corypheus and his armies."

"How many?" Maxwell asked.

Hawke and Anders exchanged a look, and Anders nodded.

Hawke cleared his throat. "Nearly a thousand fighting men and women in the Free Marches, and roughly half that scattered elsewhere, ready at a moment's notice."

Maxwell spoke over Varric's blasphemous exclamation. "What were you planning on doing with them?"

"Nothing," Anders said evenly. "We just wanted to live in peace. To be left alone to live our lives as we see fit. These people are willing to put their lives on the line to stop Corypheus."

"You convinced them?" Maxwell asked, sounding impressed.

"No. It was voted on," Anders explained. "A true democracy. And…" He looked at Hawke, who nodded encouragingly. "If we do this, we want a guarantee."

"Of course," Maxwell said. "What's your price?"

"Careful, Inquisitor," Varric said quietly.

"Freedom," Anders said. "A full pardon for any mage under my protection. To ensure that they are not hunted by your people or the Chantry's."

"What about the criminals?" Maxwell asked.

"Like myself?" Anders returned, and Dorian saw Hawke sit up a little straighter. "If the Inquisition wishes to judge me for my actions, I'll submit to a trial-"

"Anders-"

"Hawke, be quiet please." Anders continued, never raising his voice. "I understand my actions have consequences, and I don't regret them. I will never. I will submit to a trial, but you cannot expect the same of those under my care. I've sworn to protect them. We've kept them away from the Chantry and other authorities for this long, we'll continue to do so without your support. But your support would be welcome."

Maxwell considered this. "More than a thousand soldiers."

"It's more than you had this morning," Hawke said.

"Very well. I agree to your terms." Maxwell held his hand out to Anders, who shook it, then to Hawke.

"We'll be ready to move on your orders," Hawke assured him once more. "You won't regret it."

"I'm off now," Maxwell said as the throne room door opened again. "But we'll be in touch. You're welcome to stay at Skyhold-"

"Inquisitor!"

"Maker's breath," Maxwell sighed. "What?" he snapped at the scout.

"Commander Cullen told me to find you! There's an army approaching!"

"Corypheus? But I thought… Go! Make sure the ones who can't fight fall back to safety."

The scout saluted and left. Maxwell looked to Anders and Hawke, who were already on their feet with their people.

"At least you'll get a preview of what we can do," Hawke quipped.

Dorian, who rose with the others, felt his stomach tighten with anxiety and anticipation. This was it. The moment all his hard work came to fruition. He wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Lucanus and Servis would be so proud, and he could finally go home. Keeping his thoughts close, he followed the group from the room to go face their fates.


	30. Chapter 30

Smoke rose from the valley. Skyhold's main courtyard was an organized mess, soldiers issuing orders as people hurried inside the castle. Dorian excused himself to retrieve his staff and to check on Alexius. He was missing from his room, and Dorian hoped that meant he'd found safety somewhere further inside Skyhold. He rejoined the others, dodging those who were running in one direction or the other, and found inside himself an odd calm amidst the chaos. Maxwell and Cullen were talking quickly, the latter issuing orders as various soldiers approached. He had his sword in one hand, shield in the other, and was about to join the ranks of those outside the walls.

Maxwell turned quickly around the group, taking into account those with him. Dorian saw a majority of his inner circle. Bull joined them, Solas and Varric already there, and Cassandra jogged up a moment later. He assumed Leliana was on the ramparts with her people, and Josephine was likely inside, keeping calm the people who weren't able to fight. Hawke and Anders stayed close, their people looking slightly anxious.

"This is too much like Haven for my tastes," Maxwell said in an undertone to Cullen.

Cullen shook his head. "We're prepared this time, Inquisitor. We're ready for them."

"But we've so little people here. We should've left more soldiers at Skyhold. We should have held Gaspard back a day or two."

"There was no way you could have known this would happen," Cassandra reassured him. "We will stand and fight. Cullen and I will go to the valley."

Maxwell nodded, pulling his sword carefully from its scabbard. His hold on it was slightly better than when he arrived at Haven so long ago, but it was clear he was uncomfortable with the idea of fighting. Bull clapped him on the back, and Maxwell swallowed hard.

"Nothing's going to get through our defenses," Bull said. "We'll be having a celebration in a few hours. Watch."

Dorian kept the scoff to himself and looked away before anyone could see him rolling his eyes. A sudden, deafening cry filled the air. The sound was demonic and wretched, forcing several of them to cover their ears. A giant, black dragon swooped overhead, and the sight of it evoked a sort of primal fear in the denizens of Skyhold.

"It's Corypheus," Maxwell whispered. "Maker's breath. He's here. Not just his army."

"Then we will fight him," Cassandra said, standing resolutely. "Fall back to the keep. Shut the gates! Get everyone who's not fighting inside!"

Soldiers hurried to obey her orders, the portcullis dropping quickly. Those in the valley would either have to fight or die. No more reinforcements would be coming. They moved as a group up the stairs, out of the courtyard. From the corner of his eye, Dorian saw a flash of light, and turned in time to throw a barrier up over them. Venatori, a dozen or more, stalked across the yard.

"How did they get in?" Maxwell shouted, only to be pulled away by Bull.

"Doesn't matter, they're dead now!" With a cry, he ran forward, Hawke and Cassandra flanking him.

Dorian held back, sustaining barriers, but not attacking. _Lucanus, where_ are _you?_

He watched Anders cast, almost too fast to be seen, though his magicks leaned toward support, aided by haste spells and paralysis glyphs. There was an elegance about him, as there was to Solas, who stood above them on the stairs, backing his way toward the throne room. Maxwell was next to him, sword in hand, but somewhat useless. Dorian heard another cry, and realized Cullen had leapt into battle as well, the clang of sword against sword as Venatori soldiers started to pour into the yard now, using secret passageways, aided by Dorian's blueprints.

"Dorian!"

Dorian turned quickly and realized it was Alexius, emerging from wherever he'd been. "What are you doing? Go back!" he ordered. He ran toward him, intent on forcing him up toward the throne room, toward safety.

The air shifted, growing heavy. Darkness fell like a shadowy blanket, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if all movement stopped. A pool of blackness formed, an inky pond in the middle of the yard just in front of the tavern. From it emerged a figure, clawed hands, twisted and wrong, a horrible abomination of magister and darkspawn. Dorian heard someone gasp and saw it was Anders. Hawke fell to his side a moment later, the healer clutching his head in agony.

"Watch out!" someone shouted. Cole, Dorian recognized the voice, but didn't see him.

Too late, a rush of black energy from one of the Venatori came screaming at him. _Fools! I am on your side!_ Dorian couldn't react fast enough, and anticipated the impact. It came, but from the side, not the front, and someone very near him cried out in pain. He heard Maxwell shouting his name as the fight began against in earnest, and Corypheus laughed from somewhere across the yard. Dorian opened his eyes and saw Alexius, limp and resting on his chest, and felt the weight of his mentor against him.

"Alexius!?"

Panic like he'd never felt before gripped him, and there was nothing else. Just Alexius and him, and he heard nothing but the labored breathing of a man close to death. He struggled to sit up, pulling Alexius into his lap, and cradled his head.

"Alexius?"

Alexius coughed, a smattering of blood on his lips. His tunic was torn, a hole the size of a dinner plate in the fabric. Beyond, the weathered skin was red and twisted, burnt and bubbling.

"You… you stupid man," Dorian whispered, cupping his cheek. "Why did you do that?"

"Dorian," Alexius wheezed, gripping his wrist weakly. "So… proud of you."

"No. No, don't you dare say goodbye," Dorian pleaded. His eyes filled with tears, and he found it difficult to talk. "Alexius, no! Don't you fucking dare die on me. I need you."

"Will do well. Even without… me." Alexius coughed again. "Proud. My boy." He stilled, his eyes open, but unmoving. 

Dorian shook him, unwilling to believe he was gone. "Alexius? Alexius, Maker damn, you say some-" His words caught in his throat and he sobbed, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. The one person he wished to save from all this, and he was dead now. "What have I done?" he whispered, lowering his head.

"Dorian!"

The sounds of the fighting came back in a rush, and Dorian looked up at Maxwell, who knelt by his side. A burst of magic blasted him backward, and Dorian heard his grunt of pain as he hit the ground. Most of the Inquisition's forces were backed up onto the stairwell, those that still survived. Dorian saw Varric's lifeless body several feet away, crossbow clutched to his chest. Cassandra, covered in blood and bruises, was trying to crawl toward the stairs, dragging her left leg which looked broken in several places. The Venatori converged on their group. Corypheus laughed as he stepped toward Cassandra and placed a foot on the back of her armor, pressing her face down into the mud.

"NO!" Maxwell cried out.

But too late, Corypheus reached down and sent a stream of crackling red electricity into Cassandra's body. She screamed in agony, jerking violently, then lay still. Maxwell grabbed Dorian's arm and pulled hard, urging him to go. But Dorian didn't move. He channeled his mana into the palm of his hand, placed it against Maxwell's chest, and let it go with a surge of magical force. The impact flung Maxwell fifteen feet backwards, crashing into the steps. Cullen grabbed him up under the arm and yanked him to his feet.

Corypheus laughed, a low, silken sound that made Dorian feel sick to his stomach. "We meet again, 'Herald.' You plan to defeat me with that pitiful force?"

"We _will_ defeat you!" Maxwell countered, though Dorian could see how terrified he was.

"Did you not stop to ask yourself how I was able to thwart your every move? To be one step ahead of you at all times?"

Dorian looked down at Alexius's lifeless body and placed a hand over his eyes, closing the lids carefully. The sick feeling grew worse as he carefully laid Alexius down, and he slowly got to his feet. He felt so confused as he looked around, standing between the two groups. A Venatori agent stepped forward, pulling his mask free, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief to see Lucanus. Dorian heard Maxwell call out, but he ignored it, nearly falling as he stumbled toward Lucanus, the one thing that seemed to make sense in this sea of confusion. Lucanus wrapped an arm around his waist, whispering words of encouragement.

"You did so well, Dorian," Lucanus said. "I'm so proud of you."

"My very own spy," Corypheus sneered.

"You son of a bitch!" Bull shouted. "I should have killed you-"

But Cullen cut him off, and Dorian watched the two of them ascend the stairs. In fact, the entire group was moving now, except Maxwell, who stared at Dorian. The expression on his face was clear. The betrayed feelings, the hurt, the anger. Dorian felt it all, twisted up like a ball of wrong sitting squarely in his chest. He didn't care for Maxwell, so why should it hurt so much? He looked away first, turning into Lucanus's half-embrace, feeling as though he was at least wanted. Someone who was proud of him. He looked back at Alexius, lying in the dirt.

"His… body," he whispered to Lucanus. "We need to…"

"Hush, pet. I promise we will."

Corypheus raised a hand. "And now, we end this, Herald." He dropped his arm.

The last thing Dorian saw as Lucanus pulled him from the field was the Venatori soldiers rushing toward the remnants of the Inquisition as they retreated up the stairs.


	31. Chapter 31

Maxwell felt a sting of flame on his arm as a spell caught his tunic. A mage from their group extinguished it quickly. Solas was shouting for them to run. Solas shouting at all was something of an anomaly, and they heeded his call. He ushered them through the garden door, Venatori on their heels. Three mages erected repulsion glyphs, giving their group time to run while the Venatori were held at bay. Solas wrenched open a door Maxwell had never been through before. It looked like storage, but Solas wrenched down an old canvas cloth to reveal a large mirror, twice the height of a man and double the width. A spell forced the solid surface to shimmer.

"Seriously?" Hawke said. "Where in the bloody flames did you find an eluvian?"

"Long story, no time," Solas replied. "Into the mirror if you would like to live."

Hawke and Anders waited until their people were through before heading in, followed by Cullen and a handful of the Inquisition soldiers. Maxwell hesitated, but could hear the Venatori right behind them. Before he could make the decision for himself, Bull grabbed him by the arm with one hand and took him around the waist with the other. His feet left the ground, and he closed his eyes as they leapt through the mirror. The portal closed behind Solas, and Maxwell looked up. Instantly he felt dizzy, the air strange and heavy.

"Will never get used to this," Hawke muttered, hands on his knees. Anders had a hand on his back, massaging slowly, and Maxwell noticed light blue cracks in his skin.

It seemed everyone was getting their bearings. The mirror brought them to a strange, greyish universe. Maxwell felt extremely disoriented as Bull pulled him to his feet and he glanced around. A heavy fog hung in the air, making it difficult to see too far in the distance. Behind him, a stone pillar stood, representing, he supposed, the mirror through which they came. Around them, weird dull lights in the grey sky, and beneath them, a sort of cobblestone. Confused though he was, there was a stronger, more prevalent emotion that took precedence. His stomach twisted, and he bent double, suddenly vomiting.

"I did that the first time too," Hawke said.

Maxwell felt Bull's hand on his back, rubbing in slow circles. A small part of him wanted to curl up inside himself and not move. Dorian. A spy for the Venatori. He felt dirty, trapped inside his own skin. He'd given Dorian all of himself, body, heart, and soul. The first person he ever truly loved in such a way. He knew it went beyond a personal betrayal, though. It was Dorian's fault so many of the Inquisition's members were dead. Dorian's fault that they lost Skyhold. And Orlais, and Ferelden as well, probably. The reason Stroud died. Whether it was all true or not, Maxwell didn't care. He wanted someone to blame. He felt angry, betrayed, and hurt. It knotted in his chest, and he reached up, touching the pendant of Andraste at his throat.

Cupped hands were suddenly in his vision, a pool of water in them. He looked up. Anders stood there, eyes glowing faintly blue, an odd aura around him. Maxwell frowned, and Anders urged him silently. If only to rid the bitter, sour taste in his mouth, he ducked his head and sipped, rinsed, and spat. Palms dry now, Anders gently cupped his cheek, a blue glow touching his skin. Maxwell felt calm, more in control of himself, though the feelings didn't disappear.

"It's like the Fade," Anders said, his voice wavering from the tone Maxwell recognized, to something deeper. "Justice likes it here."

"Well, I can't say I'm particularly fond of it," Hawke said, and took Anders by the hand, pulling him away from Cullen, who was watching Anders warily.

"What's-" Maxwell started, but stopped when Cullen turned to glare at him. He decided to shelve that confusion for the moment. "Where are we?" he asked Solas.

"A world between," Solas said. "As Anders has said, it is like the Fade, but not."

"Merrill called it the Crossroads," Hawke added, and smirked when Solas looked at him, eyebrow raised. "You think you're the only elf who knows how to work a mirror? There's one back at camp."

"It's how we've been moving quickly and communicating with other members of our group," Anders admitted. He looked at Cullen. "Justice would appreciate it if you pointed your sword away from us."

"What are you?" Maxwell asked, mustering the courage through his confusion. The fact that his commander was still glaring, sword out, unnerved him a little. Perhaps Cullen's wariness went beyond the mere fact that Anders destroyed a chantry.

Anders closed his eyes briefly. "I thought everyone knew the story."

"Apparently not," Hawke said. "We'll explain later. Guess not everyone read Varric's book. We… Maker's breath," he cut off, and pressed the heels of his hands to eyes. "Varric."

Maxwell swallowed hard, watching as Hawke turned and stalked away. Anders followed him, two dark shapes against the thick fog.

"We don't have time-"

"Cullen," Maxwell said sharply. Whatever Anders was, both he and Hawke were clearly in pain at the loss. "Give them a minute." He tucked his own grief – memories Cassandra's face, her last cries of pain – firmly to the back of his mind. Instead, he looked at Solas. "Where do we go from here?"

"I assume since Hawke's friend has an eluvian, we can find the one that's linked to theirs. Hopefully he'll be willing to extend hospitality to the remaining members of the Inquisition."

"I heard Cole," Maxwell said. "On the field. But he didn't follow. Do you think he's safe? He can't die, can he?"

"One would think not," Solas confirmed. "I'm sure he will find us."

Bull's hand moved from his back to his shoulder, and Maxwell felt grateful to have his friend close by his side. He knew grieving would come later, once he could straighten his thoughts and allow himself to feel the hurt that coursed through him. Right now, he felt almost numb to it all, and wondered if that's what it took to be a great leader. To show his people that he was strong. _Despite vomiting,_ he thought bitterly.

When Hawke and Anders rejoined them, Hawke was quiet, his hood drawn up, eyes obscured in shadow.

Anders held his hand tightly, and looked at Maxwell. "Come to our camp. You can regroup there. We'll send word to your scattered people."

Maxwell nodded. "Thank you. We really have nowhere else to go." Ostwick, he thought, would be home. But the Venatori would search there first. He would need to get word to his family as soon as he could, just to make sure they were safe.

They walked silently through the Crossroads, Anders and Solas leading the group, the former still clutching Hawke's hand. Maxwell stuck close to Bull, brushing against his side every now and again, Bull's arm warm and heavy around his shoulders. He felt so tired and drained, and every step was agony. Time flowed oddly in the Crossroads, and it was impossible to tell how long they walked. Eventually they came upon another stone pillar, and Anders had to let go of Hawke to raise both hands to it, palms filling with white energy. The pillar cracked open with magic, and the stone peeled away to reveal the shimmery surface of another mirror.

Two at a time, they stepped through. Maxwell instantly recognized a forest, a campsite full of tents and cabins that looked hastily constructed. Fires burned and he smelled supper cooking. His stomach twisted and growled and he realized he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Anders and Hawke were speaking with an elf, a petite female with black hair and the markings of the Dalish on her face. She looked slightly anxious as they spoke, and other members of the group watched them all warily. It was calm, if a little tense, until Cullen stepped through the mirror. His templar shield caught the light of a fire, and from somewhere in the crowd, a cry rose up.

"TEMPLAR SCUM!"

Bull pulled Maxwell aside quickly, out of the fray as a dark-skinned Rivaini woman flung herself forward, a jet of fire streaming from her palm. Cullen raised his shield just in time, but the combined force of the woman and her magic knocked him off his feet. He might have stood his ground had he been prepared, but the sudden attack caught him by surprise.

"EMY, NO!"

This from Anders, who was behind her instantly, grabbing her arms, pulling her off Cullen, whose face was bleeding, presumably from the woman's nails. She spat viciously at him, catching him in the breastplate as he stood.

"Emy, stop!" Anders ordered, yanking her around. "He's not a templar anymore. He's an ally. He won't hurt you."

Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed against Anders' chest. He held her tightly with one hand, the other waving the Dalish woman over.

"Merrill, get her some wine. Get her away from Cullen."

Merrill gently took the hysterical Emy and gathered her close, whispering comforting words as she guided her away. The crowd parted. While some followed, glaring back at Anders, most remained, waiting to see what would happen. Anders approached Cullen warily, his palm full of blue light, and he raised it tentatively.

"Please, let me heal that," Anders said.

Cullen hesitated, but nodded, looking slightly stricken. He closed his eyes as Anders healed him. "I… my presence here is going to upset your people."

Maxwell thought the statement was rather gracious, all things considered. It hit him suddenly that he was no longer in charge. The dozen or so people they had with them counted for little among the hundreds he could see in the camp. They would not answer to him, nor to Cullen. It was a bit worrisome. But he had to trust Anders and Hawke, just as he told Cullen to trust them. Now more than ever they needed allies.

"Yes," Anders said simply. "Emy's sister was at Dairsmuid."

 _They Annulled the tower,_ Maxwell thought, feeling sick. No wonder the woman lashed out so violently.

Cullen nodded, opening his eyes when Anders was finished. "I understand. How do we work through this?"

Anders pursed his lips. It was almost a grateful smile, but it was clear there was much contention between the two of them. "We'll find you tents. I'll speak with my friends. I'll ensure your safety, but don't expect a warm welcome."

"Of course."

Anders and Hawke left them there momentarily to sort out shelter and explain the situation.

Maxwell touched Cullen's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Cullen nodded, though the serious expression did not leave his face. "You? With everything considered."

The unspoken name hung between them, and Maxwell tried not to think about the hurt that curled in his chest. "We need to get word to the Chargers," he said instead. "And the Grand Duke, and Leliana… if she made it."

"Once we rest," Bull insisted. "My boys can handle themselves. Gaspard's got an army behind him, including a lot of our soldiers."

"He's right," Cullen said. "I'm more concerned with those back at Skyhold. The rest of our forces will be scattered. We'll send scouts once we're recovered. There's no use sacrificing more people."

"We'll work it out, boss," Bull reassured him.

But Maxwell wasn't so sure. The silence as they waited was awkward, and the relief was palpable when they were shown to their cabins. Solas declined, stating he'd be happier under the stars, and disappeared into crowd, assuring Maxwell he would see him in the morning. Cullen and three of his men picked the one furthest from the others, and Maxwell waited until they were all settled before stepping into the smallest one with Bull, who had to duck and turn sideways to avoid knocking the door frame down. Inside was small, and Bull needed to stoop to avoid the canvas roof. Clearly these dwellings were constructed in a way to be taken down as quickly as they were put up. A truly nomadic group. Exhausted, Maxwell slumped to the floor, on one of the thick roll-up mattresses, and buried his face in his hands.

Bull knelt next to him, and Maxwell, beyond embarrassment at showing weakness, finally wept. He wasn't sure how long he cried, leaning against Bull, drawing strength from him as Bull held him tightly. Maxwell thought of his home, his father, his family, the chantry where he was just starting his life before this happened. All the people they lost at Haven, and through the months. And Cassandra. She'd been to him like an older sister. They shared their faith, discussed the future, how the Chantry needed to change. She teased him gently, and he felt comfortable and safe in her presence. And now she was dead, and it was his fault.

Had he been blind? Were there signs that he missed because he'd been so enamored with Dorian? Could he have prevented it all from happening? Cassandra's death, Varric's death. Even Alexius, who gave his life for Dorian. Was it his fault this happened? The guilt and grief poured from him through his tears until he could no longer cry, and he slumped, exhausted. Too tired to feel anything, not even anger. Then, suddenly, his skin crawled. He felt dirty inside his own body.

"I need to bathe," he said suddenly.

"All right," Bull said, not asking why or questioning him. "Stay here. I'll find out where." He kissed the top of Maxwell's head and left the tent briefly.

Maxwell gripped his pendant in one hand, whispering a quiet prayer. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide." He stopped. "Why did you fail him? Why did you let Dorian hurt? I prayed for him and you let him be swayed into evil. Why?" There was, of course, no answer. Maxwell repeated the Canticle of Trials, wishing he had his scrolls of the Chant of Light with him, and hummed softly until Bull returned, a bundle of cloth in hand.

"Come on."

Maxwell let Bull pull him to his feet and followed him out of camp, down a bank to a lake. Though not very large, he couldn't see the other end through the darkness. Feeling numb, he stripped and stepped into the water. Bull tossed him a sliver of soap, and he caught it.

"Do you want to talk?" Bull asked, settling on the sandy shore.

Maxwell lathered up, scrubbing at his skin, and he wondered if he would ever feel clean enough again. "I don't-" His voice broke. He knelt down so the water reached his neck, and he very slowly lowered his face to it. Breath held, he counted to ten slowly before emerging, and wiped the water from his skin. "I loved him."

"Not something you get over in a day."

"Love," Maxwell agreed. "Loved. I… Am I stupid, Bull?"

"No," Bull said at once. "We were all fooled."

Maxwell recognized the tone. Guilt. "It's not your fault. No more than it's anyone else's. He had all of us fooled. And I… I fell for it." The pain twisted in his chest like a knife. He couldn't breathe a moment, and had to gasp for air. "I… He… I thought I was in love. I was in love. He kissed me and we… Maker, Bull. I…"

Bull kicked his boots off and sloshed into the lake, still wearing his trousers, belt, and harness. Maxwell found himself being embraced, and clung to him. Memories of Dorian flashed through his mind. His smile, his light teasing. The nights they spent together making love, or just holding one another. It might have been fake for Dorian, but for Maxwell it was all real. His heart hurt now with the knowledge that it was a ruse, that Dorian possibly never loved him, never cared about him. And while he felt angry and betrayed, his faith made him realize another emotion: pity. The Venatori had taken that part of him and twisted it. Perhaps Dorian would never be the same again. Or maybe this is what he truly wanted after all. But no. Maxwell held onto the last shred of hope he had, for the man he met in Redcliffe's chantry, the one who spoke about stopping the Venatori and changing the world for the better. To defend it against people like Corypheus. 

"You got a song for this one, boss?" Bull asked quietly, once Maxwell calmed in his arms. He slicked back Maxwell's wet hair and looked down at him. "Might help."

Maxwell shook his head. "No. Wait. Not a song. A poem. I think." He took a breath, trying to recall the words, and slowly recited:

_"You didn't die  
you just changed shape  
became invisible to the naked eye  
became this grief  
its sharpness  
more real than your presence was  
before you were separate to me  
entire to yourself  
now you are a part of me  
you are inside myself  
I call you by your new name  
'Grief...Grief! '  
although I still call you 'Love.'"_

Bull hugged him tightly. "Like poison from a wound."

Maxwell regretted the loss when Bull moved back to shore, and quickly washed himself off, ducking under the water once more to rinse. He _did_ feel slightly better, but it would be a long time before he could forgive himself for what happened. "Are you angry?" Maxwell asked, emerging, shivering from the water.

Bull wrapped a towel around him, then turned away to give him some privacy so he could dry off and dress in fresh clothing. "Fucking livid. But it's nothing you need to deal with right now."

"Tell me."

Bull sighed. "You don't want to hear how I'd like to tear him limb from limb for what he did. For his betrayal. For hurting you." He glanced at Maxwell.

Maxwell was looking at him, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, from where I'm standing, you've got nothing to be sorry about. You did the best you could with what you had."

"I wonder if… I wonder if he feels guilty at all for what he did. Or if he's so far gone… I'm sorry, Bull. I'll stop talking about it."

Bull grabbed him by the shoulder. "No. You stop talking about it and that means you're keeping it inside. Letting it fester and infect you. You're too good for that. And he's not worth it."

Maxwell nodded slowly, though he didn't quite believe Bull's words. It was all right to be angry, but he knew, deep down he knew that it wasn't entirely Dorian's fault. He wanted to learn to forgive him. To ask the Maker to help him to forgive. He sighed. "I was hungry, but now I'm just exhausted."

"Bed now. Breakfast in the morning. Then we look for our people," Bull said.

Glad that Bull understood and was taking control, Maxwell followed him back to camp. Maybe, he thought, things would be brighter in the morning.

Somehow, he knew, the Maker would provide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell's poem is "Change of Address" by Dónall Dempsey


	32. Chapter 32

_"I'm so proud of you."_

Lucanus's words repeated in his mind over and over as the ship rose and fell with the waves. Dorian lay on the small bunk in the small cabin, arms crossed behind his head. He felt numb, dead inside, when he should have been feeling joyous. Excited. Ready to take on the world as Corypheus's treasured spy. Lucanus's man. But it felt wrong. Alexius's body was wrapped up in a canvas sheet, stored in a block of ice to keep from rotting on the journey to Tevinter. He would be given a proper cremation and funeral, one of the few requests Dorian made that Lucanus promised. It was the least Dorian could do. He wanted to keep Alexius safe, the way Alexius kept him safe. He failed.

"At least he never knew," Dorian said, wiping at the edges of his eyes before resuming his position.

He stared up at the wooden slats above him, eyes following the grain and the knots, watching as they made shapes as his vision blurred again. The single candle in the room flickered and went out, and he didn't bother reigniting it. He should have been sleeping anyway, as most of the passengers on the ship were. Venatori, a handful of Red Templars. He ate dinner with them, unable to speak, and Lucanus later asked if he was all right.

_"Fine. Just taking everything in. Where will I be staying in Minrathous?"_

The subject change led to an interesting conversation about housing. Wealth redistribution was prominent, apparently. Non-Venatori members and those that didn't support the movement found themselves under templar scrutiny. The Chantry would fold soon enough, and the Archon would be replaced with one of their own. With the Inquisition crippled, very little stood in their way. Dorian would be placed in an estate, given the highest honor among the Venatori. But he read between the lines. He was to be a prisoner again. More of the same that he experienced during his kidnapping.

He curled on his side, thinking about that time. Was he wrong? Had the Inquisition truly searched? Did his father try to find him? Did his father even know? And Alexius. Alexius said he was proud of him. That wasn't a lie. You don't use your dying breath to lie to a person. He was like a son to Alexius, and Dorian caused his death. Of course when he thought about Maxwell there was guilt, but not as much. He enjoyed him, the time they had together to play pretend. And he didn't truly regret what he'd done, what he had to do. But his thoughts centered once again on Alexius.

"He loves you."

Dorian flinched, recognizing Cole's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I stowed away. You need me more than they do."

"I don't need anyone," Dorian said, the words sounding petulant even to his own ears.

"Everyone needs someone sometimes," Cole said, sitting on the bed. He placed a hand on Dorian's shoulder.

"You're only here because of the thrall."

"That's not true. You're saying that because you think you deserve to feel that way."

Dorian wanted to contradict him, but he was right. He hadn't cared where Cole went, just that he stayed quiet. "You tried to save my life."

"You were hurting. Helpless but hopeful. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Dorian rolled over to look at him. "No."

Cole smiled sadly. "Yes. Everyone."

Dorian sighed, turning fully to face Cole, and allowed the gentle fingers in his hair. It reminded him of Lucanus, but softer, and sincere. "How long are you going to stay with me?" he whispered.

"As long as you need," Cole answered.

Dorian closed his eyes, the gentle swaying of the ship slowly rocking him to sleep. When they reached Minrathous, he would see what needed to be done. Where he would be useful. If Lucanus didn't need him for anything, he would go to Servis. And if Servis sent him away, he would return home. And if his father sent him away… he would figure out a place to go.

After all, as the saying went, the world was now his oyster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done!
> 
> Edits on Part 2 - "Daybreak" will conclude this weekend so I believe Part 2 will be up in a rush, probably 3-5 chapters a day starting early tomorrow morning. Thanks for sticking with me while I work through this and thanks so much for all your lovely feedback and kudos. <3


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